No Other One
by Duckie Nicks
Summary: Almost two decades ago, Horatio made a decision that would change his family forever. Will they ever forgive him? Will he ever tell Yelina how he feels? HY romance in the future. An alternative Horatio and Kyle season 6 story. CHAPTER 76 IS UP!
1. Prologue: The Two

Author's Note: I'll say it right away – **major spoiler for season 6. **If you'd rather be surprised, then turn back now. Run as fast as you can, hehe, because this fic will revolve around that point. Don't care? Then please continue. I have no idea how long this will actually turn out to be, but I'm guessing VERY long.

**Updated to say:** **These first several chapters were written before the show, so there are several things that don't match up.**

Remember: I don't own the show so don't sue me. :-)

Thanks to Olly the uber beta of wonderfulness. I couldn't have done it without you. And I've learned that it's not even worth attempting to go it alone. Thank you so much.

**No Other One**  
**Prologue: The Two**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_There is a woman at the beginning of all great things." – Alphonse de Lamartine _

He was drunk, but not drunk enough to forget that Yelina was now married to his brother. Drinking the iced scotch steadily, Horatio planned to remedy that. The line between pleasantly and embarrassingly drunk was small, and the redhead refused to be the latter.

The large hall was filled with people; leave it to Raymond to invite everyone he knew. No doubt his brother wanted to show off his new _wife_, Horatio thought with an unusual savageness. This seemed to be as much a trophy ceremony as a wedding reception.

And Horatio rationally understood that this was his jealousy talking – was even more painfully aware that he had had a chance to stop the whole thing long ago. But he had made his choice, had never told Yelina how he felt, and all that was left was damage control. The redhead wouldn't make a drunken scene, but he _was_ determined to be as numbed as possible.

There was no chance of forgetting today completely. How could he? Yelina was now officially his sister-in-law, untouchable now in a way she hadn't been before. This made them family, and he'd remember _that _change for the rest of his life. However, there surely wasn't any harm in _trying _to blur the memory…

Sipping down the rest of his drink, he waited a requisite ten minutes before ordering another. As unhappy as this made him, Horatio had no desire to let anyone else know it. Of course… with everyone else focusing on the _happy couple, _he was pretty sure he could dance around naked on the bar without being noticed.

But just in case…

He'd already almost screwed up between scotches one and two. Waiting for another drink, the redhead had looked around the room and caught Yelina's eye. His new sister-in-law smiled until she had taken in his appearance, had examined the look of defeat on his face. She had frowned, became sad herself, and he had turned away. He wasn't going to ruin her day.

Even an hour later, Horatio refused to look in her direction. Not that he really needed to; every so often, he'd catch her laugh over the din of clinking glasses and generic band music. She was happy, which was all the confirmation he needed to know that he was standing out on the limb by himself.

Now, with a fresh drink in hand, he slowly began to sip it. He needed to pace himself, he thought.

Another hour passed slowly, and finally the liquor combined with despair began to wear on him. He should just leave; this was his brother's day after all, and he shouldn't ruin it. He _needed _to leave for fear of doing something inappropriate and horrible. Needed an escape from _this, _from the sadness rushing through him and mixing with all of the scotch.

And it was at this moment that an escape should appear.

She was tall with long brown curls and dark eyes. He didn't catch her name when she introduced herself as she sat down next to him. Horatio didn't hear what the mystery woman was saying, but he didn't need to know; the look in her eyes was unmistakable. And even if it weren't, after he'd ordered her a drink, her intentions were made perfectly clear. The way her hand groped at his inner thigh, the way she looked at him so lustily, was all he needed to know.

She was a poor substitute, but Horatio didn't care. It was better than drinking alone. Certainly better than going home alone to an empty bed and torturing himself with what his brother was doing that night.

He knew he should stop this, figured that it couldn't end well, but… she was an escape – and an attractive one at that. And if Yelina was taken, then why shouldn't he enjoy himself?

Looking over at the mysterious woman one last time, he took her hand, and they left together, never looking back.

\//

**Sixteen years and nine months later…**

They'd met in this park several times over the last year. Yelina was never really sure why he insisted on meeting her here. It was out of the way, but she didn't mind. The little area held only happy memories for her; it'd been a long time since she'd been here last, but Yelina could remember bringing Ray Junior here several times to feed the ducks.

Arriving only minutes after her, Horatio, sunglasses on and shield clipped to his belt, got down to business immediately. He handed her the file, and she listened intently to what he said.

"Kyle Harmon, Yelina." She opened the file and flipped through it to the pictures he'd had taken six months earlier. Her eyes raked over the image of the boy; he was pale, probably naturally so, but his skin almost looked sickly in the mug shot.

His blonde hair was thick, sticking out every which way, and his dark brown eyes seemed filled with sadness. He would have looked cherubic, she thought, if not for his expression and those eyes. Her eyes glanced over to his listed age: sixteen, but hardly youthful.

"You want me to follow him." Yelina didn't look at Horatio as she said it. She leafed through the file some more and began to read the boy's history. There was something familiar, she thought – _maybe _something familiar about the teenager, but she couldn't place it.

"If you would, please," Horatio said.

She looked at him then. His sunglasses made it impossible to read his expression, but his jaw was set. His lips weren't quite frowning (just a thin line), and Yelina could tell he really wanted her to do this. That, unlike most of the other times he'd hired her, this was for real. This wasn't something to keep her occupied and safe. Thankfully.

"You're serious," she said in disbelief. He smirked, before quickly reapplying the stoic expression on his face.

"I am."

She looked back down at the file. Kyle Harmon was only sixteen, but he'd already committed a series of crimes. No, this definitely wasn't a waste of her time.

Yelina was tempted to rub it in Horatio's face, truth be told. She wanted to point out that _finally _he had had to accept her being a private investigator. Wanted to make him admit just how capable she was and how she didn't need to be treated like a child.

But she knew that if she did that, that would be cruel and childish, and for a man who hated to ask for anything, this was something. Besides… to ask for her help _and _admit he was wrong – that was too much for Horatio.

Deciding not to push her luck, she brushed a curl out of her sight and finally said, "All right… yes, I'll do it."

Horatio gave her a small smile before walking away, but she was in no rush to leave the park.

Looking around, hardly anyone else was there. Though it was still daylight outside, it was one of those last few days of summer – where the sun seemed determined to overheat anyone under its rays. And Yelina seemed to realize then just how warm it was outside. Ready to get out of the heat, the brunette started to walk to her car.

Ambling along the worn dirt path, Yelina looked back down at the file in her hand. It seemed straightforward enough.

For the rest of her life, she'd never admit to just how wrong she had been.

_End 1/??_


	2. Chapter 1: Of Dolls and Imps

Author's Notes: Once again, this has a MAJOR spoiler for season 6. If you don't want to be spoiled, turn away now. For those who don't care, please read on. I don't plan on sticking strictly to what the spoilers say, as some of you may notice in this chapter. At some point, I may have to mark this as AU. But until then, enjoy the (what will be a very long) ride.

_Olly – my beta, my Goose – thank you for all of your help. I couldn't do it without you._

_**Disclaimer: I don't own the show. Really, I don't. So don't sue me. **_

**No Other One**  
**Chapter One: Of Dolls and Imps**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_There is a fine line between recklessness and courage." – Paul McCartney_

By her count, there were at least three men leering at her. One sat behind her trying to read a book, finishing the last of his omelet, another to her left, and the last was the waiter. There had been other lookers, of course, through out the day. And sitting at a table outside at a café made her a prime target for passersby.

It made her job all the more difficult with so much unwanted attention coming her way. She hadn't been caught before, which was either due to her smarts or to the average criminal's stupidity, and she wasn't about to guess the answer. Though she supposed she'd eventually find out which it was, and Yelina wasn't sure if it was that fact or the four free lattes the waiter had brought her that made her feel uneasy.

Or maybe it was the fact that Kyle, her mark, was doing absolutely nothing that had her on edge. Her mind wandered to Horatio then. Had he hired her _again_ to keep her out of trouble?

Her fingers tightened murderously around her coffee mug.

The worst the teenager had done was buy and smoke pot on the beach early that morning. Which was illegal, but hardly worth the hourly fee Horatio was paying, she thought. And so, unless this boy was a serial killer in disguise, this too was another on of her brother-in-law's ruses.

She should be used to that, Yelina thought. He had been doing this for a while, ever since one of her clients had tried to get too close, but still… Horatio had taken an almost suffocating interest in her life. And it was wrapped, not in friendship or feelings, but in business and a cool demeanor. Given the way he treated her, the brunette felt like one of the porcelain dolls she'd owned as a child; they truly were too fragile to enjoy and were best left on a shelf to be looked at.

It made her miserable.

The feeling was only amplified as her too friendly waiter returned at that moment and placed a croissant down on her table. The light yellow dish made a small clatter as it hit the glass tabletop, and Yelina instinctively looked up at the dyed blond.

"I didn't order this," she said, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. Noticing it hadn't worked, the brunette gave a mental shrug.

He placed a hand on her shoulder. It was not a friendly action, not with the way his palms greedily spread out over the strap of her black tank top. And it certainly wasn't out of kindness as she felt him stretch his fingers out, the tips aching to reach the golden expanse of skin, desperately trying to reach the top curve of her breast.

"It's on the house," he replied, his brown eyes raking over her. The waiter opened his mouth to say more, but a voice filled the air interrupting them.

"Leave her alone." The waiter was momentarily forgotten as Yelina turned towards the direction the threat had come from.

Who she was expecting she didn't know, but Kyle Harmon was definitely not on the top of the list. For a moment, the brunette thought that his voice was nothing like he'd expected, given his mug shot. He was soft spoken, but each syllable was rounded with the sound of something more dangerous flowing underneath.

She quickly pulled herself out of her thoughts, and placing a blank expression on her face, Yelina hoped she had successfully masked the look of recognition.

"And who are you?" the waiter finally scoffed, though he took his hand off her shoulder in any case.

Which didn't surprise her really. What Kyle lacked in age, he more than made up for in height. At least, he easily towered over the perverted shrimp waiting on her. There was no doubt in her mind that the teenaged delinquent could seriously hurt the waiter. And if that happened, Yelina had no intention of telling Horatio about it – not when her fists were aching to punch the waiter herself.

Kyle stalked closer to the table. "She's my mother," he lied, "so you should leave her alone before I rip your balls off and feed 'em to you." His voice was darker then, but clearly effective as the waiter scurried from the table, his tail between his legs.

Yelina gave the teenager in front of her a small smile. "Thank you." But Kyle did not smile back, his eyes cold and hard. After a moment, when she was sure he wasn't going to say anything, she reached behind her back and plucked her white linen jacket off her teak chair. The brunette, still thinking of the waiter, placed the coat on, fumbling to button it up.

Then the blond boy stalked closer to her before plopping unceremoniously down on the chair in front of her. His dark eyes looked her up and down, assessing her. Finally, with a shrug, he leaned forward and grabbed the croissant. Kyle asked, "You gonna eat this?" But he'd already taken a large bite out of the pastry before Yelina could respond.

She shook her head, noting the way his skin seemed stretched over his bones. Despite knowing that he had spent time in juvy and was her mark, the mother in her wanted nothing more than to feed him.

Kyle chewed thoughtfully for a minute, swallowed hard, before asking – "You a cop?"

Definitely not the question she was expecting, Yelina thought, and she didn't know what to say.

"Are you a cop?" he asked again, his voice rougher this time.

She forced out a "no," as she slowly picked up her latte and sipped on it. At least not anymore, the brunette mentally added.

It was a fact that she purposely avoided these days. She had given up a lot to spend a year in Rio. And Yelina liked to ignore the reality of it all because if she truly did take stock of the situation… she'd have to accept that nothing had changed, and everything had changed. It would mean that she had _foolishly _trusted Horatio and her husband. She had to work to dampen the heated resentment rushing through her.

"You have a fetish for teenaged boys?"

The question took her by surprise, and the coffee burned her throat as she clumsily swallowed. "Of course not," she snapped, the desire to feed him replaced by the need to smack him. "Why would you –"

"Don't get me wrong," he explained. "You're kinda hot –"

"Thank you," Yelina said snidely.

"And I'm game," he said, talking over her. "But you're a little old…"

"I am not old!" She put her coffee mug back on the table a little too roughly, and her irritation evident to him, he grinned before returning to the croissant. "Let's be clear," she told him. Her accent was thicker than normal. "I have _no_ intention of seducing you. At all."

Kyle shrugged. "So then… why is that every single time I turn around today, you're somewhere nearby?"

She was glad that she'd put her coat back on as she could feel the heat rise in her chest. "Excuse me?" Yelina feebly asked.

"You've been following me. Don't think I haven't noticed," he said, pulling his chair closer to the table. "It's a little hard to miss when you attract so much attention."

"I don't –"

"Half the guys I've passed today have been staring at you. Like I said, it's a little difficult to ignore you when everyone within a five mile radius wants to bang you."

"That is…" She didn't really know what to say and shifted in her chair.

"Don't try to act like you didn't notice."

"I try not to," she said honestly.

"You're still not answering the question," he pointed out, returning to the original topic at hand.

"I –" But whatever she was about to say had to wait as her cell phone rang. Grateful for the interruption, Yelina rummaged around through her purse before plucking the phone out. Flipping the lid open with as much authority she could muster, she said, "Hello."

"It's Horatio," the familiar voice said. "Where are you?" She'd barely given him the name of the café when he barked, "Where's Kyle Harmon right now?"

The question gave her pause. With the teenager sitting across from her, the former detective knew she couldn't say, "I'm looking right at him." She pursed her lips briefly before settling for, "I just told you."

There was another pregnant pause before Horatio half-whispered, "Are you all right?" The worry in his voice, though cloying, couldn't be ignored.

She tucked a curl behind her ear as she told him, "Of course." But it didn't seem to matter because she could already hear the sirens through the phone.

"I'll be right there," he uttered in complete seriousness. He really _did _have a compulsive need to save the day, she mused.

Mentally rolling her eyes, the curly-haired woman hung up the phone and focused her attention onto Kyle once more. He still eyed her with great suspicion. "Who was that?" he boldly asked.

Yelina chose to deflect the question instead. "You're awfully nosy, I hope you realize."

The blond shrugged. "It's my nature."

He wolfed down the rest of the pastry, and with a frown on her face, the brunette said, "I can tell."

His suspicion was momentarily forgotten, it seemed. Not that it really mattered because within minutes, Horatio's Hummer came roaring down the street. Rather than watch the unnecessary display of machismo, Yelina focused her attention on Kyle.

She couldn't ignore the way he seemed to fidget in the seat, and she watched him, fascinated. Her hazel eyes focused on the boy, but she dimly heard her brother-in-law close his car door.

But it wasn't until his shadow fell on her that she chose to acknowledge his presence. "Horatio." And when he not so subtly put a hand on his hip, drawing attention to his shield, she didn't even try to hide her displeasure.

"Is this really necessary?" she asked him. Yet her brother-in-law didn't even attempt to answer the question as he asked her, "Are you all right?

It was her turn to refuse an answer, but she thought the annoyance that had to be playing on her features was answer enough.

Seemingly satisfied, at least temporarily, Horatio turned his attention to the obviously nervous teen. "Kyle Harmon?"

The boy blanched at the mention of his own name. Cautiously, he responded, "Yeah?"

Horatio cocked his head ever so slightly and smoothly told him, "You are going to need to come with me."

There was a small window for everything to go right, Yelina realized. But she could see the confusion, fear, and anger flit through the boy's eyes, and the brunette knew that this wasn't going to go well. It seemed that her brother-in-law had reached the same conclusion as he took a step forward to grab Kyle.

The teenager kicked the chair out from behind him as he stood up. Without pausing, he turned and ran.

Horatio yelled out an ineffective, "Hey." But it didn't matter because Kyle had barely made it ten feet before the irritating waiter from earlier came rushing out. The man pounced on the teenager, and they both collapsed onto the cement pavement.

Onlookers gasped, and Kyle, his face now bloody, tried to get up, but to no avail. The puny waiter was determined to hold on. "Get off of me," the teenager said gruffly.

Yelina stood up, straightening her white pants, and grabbed her unused napkin. There did seem to be an awful lot of blood, and she had an inexplicable desire to tend to him. No doubt the boy was hurting. But if it concerned Horatio, he didn't show it as he and a newly arrived police officer pulled Kyle up off the ground.

"Let's try this again. Son, you're going to have to come with me," Horatio said. The cop snapped handcuffs around Kyle's wrists, but the teenager said nothing in response.

Which Yelina thought was probably for the best.

As the police officer quickly put Kyle in the cop car, Yelina's attention turned to her brother-in-law; he was now talking to the waiter from earlier, thanking the man for stopping the teenager, and it was more than Yelina could bear.

She dropped her napkin, still unused, back onto the table. It had never escaped her how good Horatio was at his job. Really, it was almost impossible to miss just how capable he was. But here he was congratulating the man who had been so foul earlier, and she thought when Horatio got it wrong, he _really _got it wrong.

This was definitely one of those times.

Yelina was incredibly tempted to tell him, as she watched the two men shake hands, that it was this very waiter who had bothered her earlier. She practically _itched _to explain to Horatio that he was thanking the sort of person he seemed so determined to protect her from.

But she was more than aware of what the consequences would be. Gone were the days, it seemed, where Horatio would let the law handle these sorts of matters. He was more serious these days, she'd noticed; he was almost singularly focused on his job, _obsessed _with it. His demeanor was cool, but it barely belied the fire burning inside of him, aching to be released.

She didn't push him, was almost afraid of what lie beneath the surface, because while others ignored it, _she _hadn't forgotten Rio.

No, Yelina was more than aware of what might happen if she told him about the waiter. At best, her brother-in-law would implore her to quit her job. And she was _not _going to do that. Not when she knew she was more than capable of handling herself and certainly not when the possibility of Ray Junior going to college was lurking around the corner.

The thought, however, was cut short as the waiter approached her once more. "Hey," he told her, his eyes lasciviously looking her over. She instinctively gazed over towards Horatio. It was incredibly childish, but she really did want him to see _this. _Unfortunately, he was talking on his cell phone.

"I know we got off on the wrong foot earlier," the waiter told her. It was this unwanted attention that piqued Horatio's curiosity, and Yelina smiled (just a little bit) as she noticed him turning towards them.

The waiter, thinking the smile was for him, kept talking loudly, fumbling over the words. "So… I don't know… maybe you'd want to go out sometime?"

When Horatio slapped his cell phone shut, there was no doubt in her mind that he'd caught that bit of the conversation. She didn't bother to hide her grin.

With effort, Yelina forced herself to look the waiter in the eyes. "Well –"

"Or your phone number? Maybe I could call you sometime, girl." He was absolutely horrible at wooing a woman, that much she knew for sure. But caught up in the enjoyment of making Horatio jealous, Yelina only hesitated for a moment before saying, "Sure."

The waiter scrambled for a piece of paper, handed her the pad he took orders down on. But she had no intention of giving him her actual number (she would at least be somewhat sensible) and instead wrote down the first digits that came to mind. Handing the pad back to him, she said, "Bye," dismissing him.

Pushing her purse strap up over her shoulder, Yelina started walking in Horatio's direction. The redhead looked irritated, which made the imp inside of her cheer. Closing the distance between them, she fought to remain serious and asked, "Do you need me for anything?"

He took a moment, grabbing the sunglasses out of his pocket before sliding them on. "No," Horatio told her quietly.

"All right," she said brightly, the lilt in her voice a stark contrast to the softness in his. "I'll talk to you later."

Best case yet, she thought. And as she walked past him, Yelina couldn't help but smile.

_End (2/??)_


	3. Chapter 2: Prisoner's Dilemma

Author's Notes: Once more, this fic contains a major spoiler for season 6 of the show. At the same time, I should also warn that here is where things start to go off the track, hehe. Given that I don't know all of the things that will happen in the show, I've chosen to improvise and go my own way. But hopefully you'll bear with me and enjoy the chapter. :-)

Thanks to my beta, Olly. You're a constant source of support and humor and all that jazz.

**Disclaimer: If I owned the show, I certainly wouldn't be writing fanfiction for it. So... I think it's pretty safe to say that I don't own the show. **

**No Other One**  
**Chapter 2: Prisoner's Dilemma**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_I daresay one profits more by the mistakes one makes off one's own bat than by doing the right thing on somebody else's advice." – W. Somerset Maugham  
_

He felt nervous, unreasonably so, but Kyle was determined not to give into the feeling. His feet tapped rhythmically against the floor. One of his thin hands clutched onto the soda can someone had brought him. The other nervously ran through his dirty-blond hair.

This wasn't his first interrogation – he thought he shouldn't be so… whatever – but here he was with a stomach full of butterflies. Maybe it was because of his damn face that he felt that way. It had stopped bleeding, but it hurt like hell, and all he wanted to do was wash off the uncomfortable mess.

Yes, that was the problem, Kyle thought. He wasn't wimping out -- it was just his face. Although part of him had to admit that this was the first really truly bad thing he'd done. And he'd been uncomfortable with the kidnapping from the start, but he hadn't realized just how horrible a thing it really actually was.

It didn't even feel like it was happening to him. It definitely didn't feel like something that had begun only a week ago. Or maybe it started a little earlier than that. After all, if he hadn't been caught screwing the foster family's daughter, none of this would be happening.

The funny part of it all was that he didn't even _like _her. She was a twat if he ever saw one. But she was hot and manipulative and had done everything in her power to seduce him. And the whole deal had been doable, no pun intended, until one of the newer foster kids had caught them.

Well, the culprit wasn't a _kid. _He was probably fifteen, and Kyle still hadn't caught the newcomer's name even though they'd been sharing a house for a month. Not that he even really wanted to know. The teenager was weird, Kyle thought, and so the blond-haired boy had made a point to stay away from him.

Sitting in an interrogation room now, he wished he'd been able to stick to that point.

But obviously that hadn't happened, and when they got caught, Psycho-Freakboy, as Kyle had come to call him, had wanted them to buy his silence. And as _always, _it was him, not her, who had to pay the price for that.

Kyle, remembering the conversation he'd had with her later, shifted in the metal chair.

"You gonna do it, baby?" she'd asked him. He'd recognized the forced sad look on her face. It had been so clear to him then that she wanted him to cave. Because then it meant their secret could be safe, and the foster fam would never find out. And that meant he could stay by her side for her use whenever she wanted.

It had been something Kyle wasn't exactly keen about. She'd seen his hesitation though and got up off the bed, moved closer to him. She had rubbed his cheek with a softness he rarely associated with the blonde teen.

"If you don't," she'd told him, her voice almost sickeningly sweet, "he'll tell Daddy. And what do you think he's going to do when he learns you've deflowered me?"

Kyle had rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like I'm the first one –"

Her expression had hardened, as had her voice, and she'd said, "He'd never believe I came onto you. No one will. And if he doesn't straight up kill you, you'll be thrown out of here. I'm sure your parole officer will love that."

She'd hit his weak spot then, Kyle thought drinking the rest of his coke. It wasn't that he really _liked _living there. But it had been the first foster family with any degree of normalcy. Well… normal if you didn't include the horny daughter he was messing with and Psycho-Freakboy with his rape/kidnapping fantasies. And so... he'd agreed.

It was almost amusing, he thought, that only now did he really think about the consequences. He wasn't even sure what the cops had on him, but his rap sheet sort of spoke for itself, and Kyle definitely thought he saw jail at the end of this for him. All to protect something he didn't even really like.

But his thoughts were interrupted as Lieutenant Caine (Kyle had picked the name up from the pieces of conversation he'd heard while being shoved into the cop car) entered the dimly lit room.

The blonde tried to quickly assess the redhead. What did this guy want to hear? The man, sunglasses dangling precariously in one hand, a file in the other, took a seat. And they both looked each other over for a few minutes, but Kyle still didn't know what to say.

"Let me tell you what I know," the cop offered. "Four days ago, a woman, last name Gannon, went missing from her house. This would be roughly the same time you had your ankle monitoring device removed –"

"The court said I _could_, Old Man," Kyle said, his voice braver than he felt.

The cop leaned back in his chair, nodding his head. "True." He cocked his head and slid his sunglasses on, even though the teenager hardly thought it was necessary. "I'm trying to establish what we call a timeline."

Was he supposed to clap? Kyle wondered.

But the redhead continued, "With the ankle monitoring device, you could kidnap a woman virtually undetected though, couldn't you?"

The teenager scoffed at the thought. "Yeah, and I also could have flown to Tijuana and picked up a bunch of prostitutes. Doesn't mean I _did._"

"Also true, but…" The cop seemed to draw this out as long as possible before continuing, "No one reports seeing you in Tijuana, where as I have two neighbors saying they saw you skulking around the Gannon residence."

Kyle didn't doubt that that much to be true. He had experience breaking the law, yeah, but he wasn't James Bond or anything. And… maybe part of him really _had_ wanted to get caught before the whole thing went down. He shifted in his seat again. "You're arresting me because I happened to walk by a house?"

"Of course not," the man said, smiling. But Kyle didn't think there was anything remotely smile-worthy. "But I hired someone to keep track of you anyway."

"Next time try not to hire someone who attracts so much attention."

This seemed to throw the man off – just a little, which was fine by the teenager. "You noticed her then?" the cop asked rather stupidly.

"Yup. But don't worry. I was the perfect gentleman," Kyle said snidely. Watching the redhead intently, the blond could see his jaw twitch ever so slightly.

But if the man had any other thoughts on the matter, the teenager wasn't privy to them as they got back to the kidnapping. "Really? That's good because this morning we caught two teenagers trying to dump Mrs. Gannon into a dumpster."

Fuckshitdamnfuck. They'd killed her. Perhaps sensing the boy's panic, the cop replied, "She's not dead. Close but she'll live."

"Good for her."

"Unfortunately for you," the redhead said, "both teens – I think you know them." He'd stopped talking pulling two pictures out. "An Adam Jackson and Deana Burton."

Kyle frowned looking at their mug shots. "Yeah, I know them." So Psycho-Freakboy and the whole reason this mess had happened to him had turned him in. Well if that didn't get all…

Unless they _hadn't _told, he thought. True, he was two years behind in school now, thanks to truancy, juvy, and bad grades, but Kyle had heard of cops lying to get confessions; he'd watched "Law and Order" enough to know that. Perhaps they hadn't said anything?

"Good," Lieutenant Caine said brightly. "Because they're saying this was all your plan." The teenager merely shrugged. "You wouldn't know anything about that?"

"No." It was a lie.

"Okay, well, let me tell you what's going to happen. Right now, my team is testing your DNA against every sample they collected from the scene," he explained. "I only need one match to prove you were there. And when that happens, you won't be going back to juvy. You understand?"

Kyle shrugged.

The redhead leaned forward. "So if there's something you want to tell me, you'd better start talking now."

But the teenager was unsure of what to say. The truth was rarely if ever good enough, he'd learned that a long time ago. And so he could only shrug again and say, "There's not."

The lieutenant left, and Kyle was all alone. And he couldn't help but wonder if he'd just permanently destroyed his life. Ruined all chances of a future before he'd ever even had a chance to prove himself to anyone.

_End (3/??)_


	4. Chapter 3: The Woes of Lieutenant Caine

Author's Note: For this chapter, we're back to Horatio's point of view. One more time, this fic includes a major spoiler for season 6 of the show. But hopefully if you've made it this far, you'll keep going with me. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. And especially to my beta, thanks for all your help.

_Disclaimer: I make no money from this. I don't own the show so don't sue me._

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Three: The Woes of Lieutenant Caine**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_Worry gives a small thing a big shadow." – Swedish Proverb_

The interrogation room's door clicked shut behind him, and though his back was turned, Horatio could still feel Kyle Harmon watching him. Perhaps the blond thought that if he observed the lieutenant enough, he'd know what to say. But for his own part, Horatio was intent on making sure the teenager would fail, though he didn't really understand why he should feel this way.

Still it hadn't surprised him that Kyle hadn't talked. The kid had a mile-long rap sheet and had no doubt learned to keep quiet (unless you thought you could get off) long ago. And truth be told, the redhead was almost grateful for the teen's silence; it made his job that much easier.

Practically an open and shut case, they had witnesses who could now identify Kyle as the boy they'd seen lurking around. Two teenagers had pointed to him as the mastermind behind the whole thing, and with any luck, they'd get a DNA match as well. Still, something didn't smell right, Horatio thought as he started his short journey to Valera's part of the lab.

He wondered for a moment if it was the way this case seemed to be so neatly tied together that bothered him; it just felt too flawless, the redhead thought. And that didn't usually bother him, but this… _this _had a perfection, which struck him as contrived.

Not that the case was all that perfect. None of the neighbors had originally been able to accurately describe Kyle. Some of them had even told Calleigh that the teenager they were looking for had dark hair and was Latino. Only when they'd been given a series of mug shots could any of them finger Kyle. And one neighbor hadn't even been able to do that.

Stalking to the elevator, Horatio hit the down button, which would take him to the DNA lab. Naturally, it would depend on who tried the case, but the redhead was certain none of the neighbors would be asked to testify.

The elevator unceremoniously opened, and the lieutenant stepped in. As the doors shut, he thought about the other witnesses they had – the teenagers. The boy and the girl would absolutely be forced to testify against Kyle as part of their plea bargain. But Horatio was pretty sure anyone from the public defender's office could eviscerate them on the stand. After all, it wasn't like two kids trying to dump a barely alive body were paragons of truth.

And so in the end, the CSI _knew_ that this conviction would come down to his team's work. So far, they hadn't found any fingerprints to put Kyle at the scene, but Horatio was hoping – and had a feeling – that Valera would find something. Because if they found a DNA match in that crummy apartment the Gannon woman had been kept in, then it didn't matter to Horatio what role Kyle Harmon played.

It would mean that he was guilty, and that would be more than enough to quell the unease inside the lieutenant.

The doors opened, and Horatio stepped off the elevator. He walked down the hallway to the area where they processed the DNA, all the while hoping it would provide them with answers.

But as he neared the area, the redhead saw someone he hadn't seen in a long time. Her hair was shorter now than when he had dated her, and it made her seem all the more severe – but there was no denying Rebecca Nevins was still beautiful.

True, Horatio had been the one to end things, and it was a decision he didn't regret, but nonetheless, he froze then. He quickly evaluated his options: the CSI could continue on his path, run into her, and likely deal with an awkward conversation or he could duck into the AV lab situated to his right.

It was one of the easier decisions he'd made while on the job, and the redhead quietly slipped into the empty, dark room. Someone had left the monitors on, and it cast an eerie blue glow onto the space. The redhead snuck quietly to one of the chairs and sat down. From his position, he'd be able to see everyone passing in the hallway, but they wouldn't be able to see him. It was the perfect place to hide.

Waiting for Rebecca to walk by, Horatio chose to pass the time going over what little conversation he'd had with Kyle. And it was then that he remembered:

"_Next time try not to hire someone who attracts so much attention. But don't worry. I was the perfect gentleman,"_ the blond teenager had said.

It had bothered Horatio then, though he tried not to show it, and he'd pushed it aside to get on with the interrogation. But now… now, he couldn't get that part of the conversation out of his head.

What exactly had Kyle meant by that?

The blond had obviously noticed her, and now that he thought about it, she _had _been with Kyle when Horatio had arrested him. What had _that _been about?

And try as he might to come up with something remotely positive, the CSI couldn't do it. Every conceivable option was bad – made him cringe with worry, and he could only conclude that something bad had happened.

But she would have told you, a voice inside of him tried to counter. Yet the rest of him knew that wasn't true. Yelina hadn't told him about Stetler hitting her; she hadn't gone to him when Ray got into drugs the first and second time. If Kyle had said or done something to her (which Horatio couldn't see how that _hadn't _happened), then his sister-in-law would no doubt keep it from him.

Which made his desire to see her, he thought, all the more irrational. Yelina wouldn't talk, but… Horatio needed to see that she was okay. He needed to see her face to face because as much as she would try to hide it, she was, in the end, horrible at keeping things from him.

The redhead abruptly got up from his chair.

True, right now he had little more than suspicion to go on. But Horatio had learned long ago to trust his instincts, and at least if he could see her… her eyes would tell him all he needed to know. And with Rebecca Nevins, the case, and the DNA all but forgotten, the redhead wrenched open the door.

His pace was brisk as he hurried towards the stairwell; an elevator would only slow him down. He didn't even stop at the sound of Valera nervously calling out to him from the hallway that the DNA had been processed. His back turned from her, Horatio missed the dreaded look on her face.

It took him twenty minutes to get to his sister-in-law's house, and all the while, he tried hard to ignore the voice inside of him arguing that this was wasting time. There was no use giving up now, not when he'd made his decision, he told himself.

She opened the door and smiled at him only moments after he'd knocked. "Horatio." His name seemed to linger in the air, followed by a definite silence. And he knew he should say something, but the redhead hadn't thought that far ahead. "You want to come inside?" Yelina asked finally.

Horatio shook his head no, and they fell into silence once more. Mustering up his courage, he asked eventually, "You wanna step outside?"

It was obvious, he thought, that Yelina had no idea what was going through his head, but she told him, "sure," nonetheless.

Shutting the door behind her, the brunette closed some of the distance between them. Her heels clicked on the small landing. When she'd bought the house after coming back from Rio, Yelina had told him that she'd like the place because it didn't have an "oppressive" porch. Indeed only a year later, the redhead could see that the yellow and red flowers she'd planted had blossomed proudly.

And now, with her nearer than before, both of them standing underneath the sun's afternoon rays, Horatio could see it: a small bruise smirching the olive skin of her collarbone. His jaw involuntarily twitched.

Yelina must have noticed because she cocked her head, her brow furrowing in confusion. And when she did that, her dark curls tumbled over her shoulder and easily obscured his view. Which was just as well, Horatio thought, as he forced himself to look her in the eyes.

"I didn't thank you earlier," he began. "And I should have."

The smile she gave him was a reassuring one. "You didn't have to come all the way here to tell me that."

"Maybe not," he said, nodding his head. "Maybe not."

She shifted on her feet and then asked him, "Is everything all right?"

"Uh… you know, I'm not sure." He purposely hesitated over his words.

It was a technique he'd perfected over the years. Used mainly with victims of crimes, it allowed Horatio to push as hard as he wanted while still appearing reluctant. And the truth right now was he _didn't _care about Yelina's right to privacy – not when he needed to know what had happened. But he thought it couldn't hurt to hide behind a cool lack of enthusiasm.

"Something came up," the redhead said slowly. "In the interrogation."

"Oh?" Horatio thought he detected a hint of caution in her voice.

"About you," he told her. Carefully watching her eyes, he could see her expression change from confusion to recognition – and back to _forced _confusion.

"What about me?" she asked, her words sounding almost strangled.

"Kyle Harmon said there was… an incident," he lied. "I want you to tell me about that."

"An incident," she repeated. "What kind of incident?" she asked, feigning ignorance.

"I was hoping you would tell me."

Her hazel eyes narrowed on him at that moment, silently assessing him. It made him nervous, and he had to fight off the instinct to fidget under her gaze. Instead, he gave her what he hoped was a look of understanding. But it didn't matter because somehow Yelina had seen through it, and she smirked.

"No," she told him, and this time he did wriggle, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Yelina," he started, but she cut him off.

"Nothing happened, Horatio," but he could tell that was a lie.

"That's not what I hear." The lie was from him this time, and it seemed so odd to him that this should be the case because he had always considered her a friend – family. And Horatio had no delusions about the things they kept from one another; they did that, had always done that, but no more than any other family might. But this… this seemed to take things to a whole new level. Because now absolutely nothing they said to one another was the truth, and it wasn't seemingly to protect him or even to protect her. They were lying for reasons he didn't understand, and the redhead hated it.

"If you had heard anything," she interrupted, "you wouldn't be here."

"That's not true," Horatio countered. "I wanted to..." he paused, this time the move uncalculated and reached for his sunglasses. Plucking them out of his coat pocket, he held the cool plastic in his hands but didn't put them on. "I wanted to make sure you were all right… and…"

He took a deep breath, absolutely convinced she'd hate him for this next part. "And to once _again_ remind you that there are other options, safer options, besides P.I. work."

Whatever serenity there had been on her face vanished. Her eyes darkened, her lips turning downwards into a deep frown. "We have been over this before," Yelina said. Each word was chosen carefully, and it was obvious in the way her accent rounded off each syllable that she was trying to keep her temper in check.

"Yes, we have. And I think we need to discuss this again, given what happened today."

"'Given what happened today'?" She scowled as she crossed arms defensively over her chest. With the way she was looking at him, Horatio wisely pocketed his sunglasses once more. Normally he trusted her not to attack him, but… now, he wasn't so sure, and if she did, the redhead would need both hands to protect himself.

"Nothing happened, Horatio!" This time she couldn't keep the exasperation from her voice. "Do you understand that? Absolutely nothing happened to me." She rubbed one of her temples with her right hand. "And," Yelina added, "I am _not _quitting my job because of something you've _imagined._"

"Something I imagined," he repeated slowly, softly.

"Yes."

"All right." He nodded his head slowly up and down, pausing. "Then would you," Horatio started, "please explain to me how I imagined this bruise on your neck?"

This time the confusion on her features was not forced. "What are you talking about?"

With only the slightest hesitation, he stepped forward, narrowing the gap between them, and reached up with his hand. His fingers gently brushed her long brown curls aside to show her. Her hair out of the way, his thumb traced the small area of collarbone near the bruise, and he pressed ever so slightly on the injured area.

All the while, his eyes trained on hers; Horatio wanted to see her reaction to his discovery.

But discovery didn't come quickly to her because, instead of looking down to where his hand was, Yelina seemed equal parts shocked and delighted by the contact itself. Her hazel eyes softened, though he could still see the traces of anger and sadness. Her mouth parted just a little, and she was beautiful, he thought.

And before the moment had even really begun, the niggling reminder popped into his head: she married your brother.

He dropped his hand, cleared his throat, and told her, "Here. Take a look." Reluctantly, she did, awkwardly craning her head to catch a glimpse of what he could easily see, and Horatio was rewarded with the confusion and realization flitting through her features. "Did I imagine that?" he asked her.

"Horatio…"

"Tell me." His voice was hard, but not cruel – at least he hoped. She bristled at the idea again, but he pushed some more. "Yelina, how did you get the bruise?" But her answer was more of the same as she pursed her lips and looked away.

He decided to wait her out. And eventually, the brunette looked back at him and said, "I'm fine," but the words never quite reached her eyes.

Years of experience – hell, years of knowing _her _– told Horatio that Yelina very clearly wasn't fine. If he hadn't believed something had happened before, she'd just confirmed it then.

"What did Kyle Harmon do to you?" he asked more bluntly this time. Mentally, the redhead decided that no matter what her answer was, he _was _going to take care of that teenager. Oh yes, he would.

And given that his future actions were now already determined, Horatio wasn't exactly sure why he kept pushing for an answer. By now part of him was more than aware that Yelina was _not _enjoying this, but… he just had to know. He needed to hear the details so that he could force the truth out of the boy later, needed to know exactly what happened so he could torment himself with another example of how he _hadn't _protected his family. Needed to know so that the ghosts of what might have happened wouldn't haunt his sleep – though admittedly, Horatio hadn't had a good night's rest since Yelina had taken the job.

"He didn't do anything to me," she said through gritted teeth. A bee buzzed noisily around one of the rose bushes near by. When it flew closer to her, she dangerously swatted it away. To his amusement, the bug didn't dare fly near her again.

Exasperated, his sister-in-law added, "And what is with you and this kid?" The anger in her eyes gave way to suspicion as she said in a softer tone, "You seem so intent to find fault with him, and… that's not like you."

"I'm not-" Now he too was letting his frustration show, and he had to stop – pause – to figure out what he wanted to say. "I'm just going where the evidence is saying to look. And it's telling me that he –"

"Kyle Harmon didn't touch me, Horatio." She was livid, displaying the quiet fury that always got under his skin. But for all her anger and her words, the CSI couldn't help but think that she was lying. He was sure that she'd picked up on his incredulity, because her next words were, "But you obviously don't trust me."

And the painful truth was, in this matter, he didn't. Her frown deepened at his telling silence.

"So… since that is the case, this is… obviously a waste of your time… and mine." Her words were carefully chosen and their meaning absolutely clear.

He knew he should apologize or fight the matter – do something – but nothing seemed appropriate in his mind. Every possibility seemed more hopeless than the next; she was angry, and nothing he could say or do would change her mind; Yelina wasn't going to tell him the truth, and so he remained rooted silently in place.

"You should leave," she said finally, her voice choked.

There was a brief moment of silence before he conceded sadly, "If that's what you want."

"It is." Horatio nodded his head in understanding.

Yet he couldn't help but tell her, "If something happened, I will figure it out."

"I have no doubt," but the tone of her voice, so snide and exacting, told him that she _did _doubt that. And he turned, started walking down her driveway, hoping she would change her mind. But when Yelina called out to him, it was not in apology.

"You're not always right, Horatio."

And slamming his car door shut, he mentally retorted as he drove away that he wasn't always wrong either.

_End (4/??)_


	5. Chapter 4: Mirrors

Even an hour later, Yelina was absolutely furious

Author's Note: Again, this contains a spoiler for season 6. Though I have no idea how the actual show plans to deal with the mess they've created. I guess this is technically AU now.

Thanks to Olly, my beta, who finished reading this for me – despite the massive headache.

**No Other One  
****Chapter Four: Mirrors  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_If I had my child to raise all over again… I'd take my eyes off my watch and watch with my eyes." – Diane Loomans_

Even an hour later, Yelina was absolutely furious. Having briefly glanced in the hallway mirror, she had seen the way her eyes had morphed into a telling obsidian, a perfect reflection of the red-hot anger flowing inside of her. She could still feel the scowl marring her features, just as she couldn't miss how every fiber of her being seemed to thrum on her fury. And though she had taken to scouring Ray Junior's bathroom, the mother couldn't help but notice the way her hands, encased in yellow latex gloves, shook.

Horatio had picked the wrong day to be overbearing.

After what had happened with the waiter earlier in the day, Yelina had wanted nothing more than to be left alone, to have some personal space. And though she could usually tolerate her brother-in-law's penchant for trampling on her privacy, she hadn't felt gracious enough to put up with it today.

Clad in old jeans and a black t-shirt with a neck high enough to cover her new bruise, Yelina scrubbed angrily at the dirty, should-be-porcelain-white tub. Her son was filthy. The mother rarely if ever wished she'd had a daughter instead, but surely a girl would have been easier to clean after, she thought.

Yelina had already finished cleaning the bathroom mirror and sink; she'd long since taken her frustration out on the tile floor and the toilet, but it had done little to relieve the anger coursing through her body. Now, only the bathtub, covered in God-only-knew-what, lay between her and succumbing to the overwhelming desire to punch something.

And given how long it had been since Horatio left her house, Ray Junior would be back from school soon. Which made the need to calm down seem all the more important. He was at times a very observant teenager, and like his uncle, Ray would want to know what had happened, and that would only make things worse.

Not that she would ever take her anger out on her child, Yelina told herself. She had more control over herself than that and much more respect for her son than she had control.

Even if that wasn't the case, the brunette understood her own family dynamic. Anything horrible she could say to Ray Junior would inevitably be followed up with something equally cutting said back to her. They'd fight and say things they didn't mean, but neither would ever remain mad for long. Because above all, she loved him, and he loved her.

It was that simple in the end: they could say or do anything to one another because there was an inherent knowledge – an absolute trust and faith in one another – that he would always be her child and she his mother.

And Yelina wasn't sure if this dynamic qualified as an unhealthy codependency or a natural unconditional parent-child love. She had never really made many friends who were mothers. Other women were traditionally intimidated by her, though Yelina never really understood why, and as a result, they stayed away from her. Or they would speak of their home lives as if they had the perfect children and husband, which she couldn't believe to be true. Though maybe it had been the truth, and her family really was the oddity. Certainly in her own experience, her mother had never had this kind of relationship with her. The brunette couldn't even imagine saying some of the things Ray had said to her (God help her if she had).

Maybe it was bad parenting on her part, she concluded as she cleaned the showerhead. But Yelina had admittedly no desire to change things. Even if it was wrong, it was nice to have something immutable like her love for him. And maybe Ray Junior felt the same way. At least she hoped he did.

Their lives had never been teeming with trustworthy people or the ability to believe in much of anything…

Her anger gave way to a palpable sadness. Her life had… not turned out as expected, and no doubt her child had missed out on many things because of that. Including having a dependable father – or at least the kind that stayed dead, anyway.

But the melancholy eased as she heard the front door shut. She had made some bad choices in the spouse department perhaps, but Yelina also knew that looking at her son as though he were missing out wouldn't help matters. Ray already missed his father, and her pity wouldn't help; it would only make her husband's absence all the more prominent. And there was no way she could fix that.

Not that she would if she could.

As she heard Ray Junior walking down the hallway, the mother forced herself to turn her attention away from the past and back to the bathtub in front of her. The brunette had saved the worst part of her task for last – the tub's drain.

Taking the time to mentally prepare herself for the horrors that lay within, she carefully unscrewed the bath stopper with her gloved hand.

"Mom," Ray said, his voice carrying through the tiled room.

But still focused on her task, Yelina didn't turn to face him. Only a "Hmm" escaped her pursed lips to let him know she was listening.

Setting the stopper aside, she shoved two fingers into the drain – and shuttered, despite wearing the gloves, as she felt the hairy gooey mess stuck in between the crosshatch of metal.

"I'm home," he told her as the mother pulled out the tight ball, made of fallen strands of dark brown hair held together with leftover shampoo, conditioner, and soap.

Yelina turned and showed him what she had found. "This is absolutely disgusting, Raymond," she said, using his full name to show her disapproval. And unceremoniously, she tossed the hairball into the trash.

"No one said you had to clean it." But before she could even respond, Ray continued, "Besides, it's not _my _fault I got this friggin' _mop _for hair." As if to emphasize his point, the moody teenager raked his hand irritably through his dark brown locks.

As a baby, he had favored his father in terms of looks. But as Ray got older, Yelina could see her genes triumph (at least in this respect). He'd gotten her full lips, her olive skin, and her thick, dark hair (though thankfully, he didn't have as many curls). He was in so many ways her baby.

But the surge of maternal pride didn't last. Screwing the bath stopper back in place, Yelina lamented, "Too bad you didn't inherit my hygiene."

Her task now complete, she stood up then, and peeled off her gloves, throwing them in the trash. And as she washed her hands, the brunette looked over to the teenager still blocking the doorway. "Stay out of your room," she told him. "I'm cleaning that next."

This was something else that probably made her a terrible mother. At his age, Ray should be doing these things for himself. But… the truth was she enjoyed taking care of him, if only because it meant she could deny how old he really was. And in any case, if left to her son, his room would never be clean, and it certainly _was _her job to make sure her child didn't get scurvy or anything else.

He stepped aside as she walked past him to put the bathroom cleaning supplies away. But Ray was very clearly not going to let her carry on her with her task; following her, the teenager said, "You know I think I'm old enough to decide when my room needs cleaning."

She pushed open his door, and they both stepped inside the unnaturally humid room that smelled of dirty gym socks. But Ray seemed not to notice as he rushed to put a few things into a desk sitting across the dank room. Obviously, he was trying to hide things from her, and all he had done was foolishly pique her curiosity.

But for today, the mother decided, she'd respect his privacy and pretended not to notice what he was doing. Instead, Yelina stepped over a pile of dirty clothes to the empty laundry hamper. Holding the black plastic container up, she quipped finally, "And yet all evidence points to the contrary."

He frowned but clearly gave up when he said, "Fine. Do what you want."

Ray started to walk away, and she sighed at the mess before her. But just as Yelina picked up a pair of dirty jeans, her son popped his head back in the room and revealed, "I failed my chemistry test, and you need to sign something saying that you know I failed."

The jeans in the hamper, the mother looked at her son sadly. Most teenagers, Yelina thought, would hide such a fact from their parents. But not her son because he knew that she believed his failures were a reflection of her own parenting skills. In the end, Ray had told her only to hurt her, and it had worked perfectly.

"And before you say it," he added, "I'm _not _asking Uncle Horatio for help."

She could only sigh as he walked away. That too was another quality he'd inherited from her; Ray would rather suffer than ask for help. Even when it was obvious that he needed help.

And she knew then, more so than ever, that given his stubbornness, his smart mouth, and his love of secrecy, Ray Junior didn't need to look like her for her to know he was without a doubt her son.

* * *

Driving back in his Hummer, Horatio thought that his fight with Yelina had gone as well as he could have expected. No doubt she was angry, but… he couldn't do anything about that.

Of course, the redhead would have preferred to know the exact details of what happened. Naturally, he had hoped that getting his sister-in-law to talk would be easier than pulling teeth. But he supposed her anger couldn't be helped, and the little she'd said had been more than enough. And Horatio was determined now more than ever to get the truth out of Kyle Harmon.

His hands gripped the steering wheel hard, his knuckles turning white, as he thought of the boy.

Perhaps, Horatio realized then, it had been a mistake to go to Yelina's because sitting by himself in his car, there was absolutely nothing to distract him from what had happened. All alone, he could only dwell on the bruise forming on her skin.

And he could feel himself gearing up for a fight, which wasn't all that terrible, he thought. But if left unchecked…

Stuck at a stoplight, his foot firm on the break pedal, Horatio took a deep breath. He needed to calm down, but the oxygen filling his lungs didn't help. He exhaled and decided to try again.

Three attempts later though and now parking his car, Horatio was still tense.

As he entered the building, the lieutenant thought for a moment that maybe he shouldn't do this. At least until he was calm, he should stay away for now.

But there was a time factor involved in every arrest and when he saw through the interrogation window Kyle sitting, Horatio felt his ire increase. And he hadn't been anywhere near this angry since a year ago when he'd killed Riaz.

It was true that Horatio had seen many depraved acts over the years. The longer he spent doing his job, the more people seemed intent on selling their freedom, seemed comfortable with doing things the redhead couldn't really understand. It angered him, of course.

And yet he could always look at the crimes and the victims through cool blue eyes. He would be outraged and angered, sure, but in the end, they weren't people he loved. Horatio fought for the victims, cared for some of them even, but once the case was solved, they ceased to need him, and he'd learned that it wasn't wise to care too much about them.

Someone hurting Yelina wasn't something he could so easily compartmentalize. She was someone he knew incredibly well; she was the woman who had given birth to the only person he could come close to calling "son," and that made anything Kyle Harmon did to her completely unforgivable.

It was in that moment that the image of the bruise surged forward, pushed past all rational thought, tipping his mind beyond the point of caring about what he should do as a CSI. Horatio couldn't stay away if he tried.

He stalked the short distance to the interrogation room, throwing the door open. The visibly bored teenager looked up at the noise, and his brown eyes immediately widened in surprise, shock, and maybe, to Horatio's delight, in fear.

The door rattled in its frame as the redhead closed it loudly behind him. Methodically, he proceeded to draw the curtains close in the room. It had practical implications of course, but the darkened privacy would only heighten whatever fear the boy was surely feeling.

"What're you doing?" Kyle asked loudly, and Horatio knew he had hit home. And though he was sorely tempted to answer, "making sure there are no witnesses," he said nothing; from years of interrogation, he knew that a wall of silence was more unnerving than any answer he could concoct.

Finally, with no one able to see in, Horatio turned to face Kyle, who had stood up by now.

"You're gonna want to sit down for this," he told the boy. And when Kyle made no move to sit, Horatio stalked over to him. His fingers gripped the teen's shoulder roughly, pinching, forcing the kid back into the metal chair.

"Oh I get it," Kyle said. "You're going all bad cop on me now, right? Just so I'll talk." The blond turned his head around to look at Horatio, and the older man could see the smarmy expression play on the boy's features.

But for his part, Horatio merely cocked his head and grinned. It struck him as odd in that moment that he should only really smile in situations like this. He should get out more, he bizarrely thought for a second, before focusing back on the task at hand.

By this time the boy's confidence had visibly faltered.

"Let me tell you something, Kyle. _Every _contact leaves a trace, and I just found yours."

"What the hell are you talking about?" the teenager demanded.

Horatio's eyes hardened. "I saw the bruise on her. I know what you did to the P.I. I hired."

The accusation hung in the air for a moment, before Kyle's laughter replaced it. This was… not the reaction Horatio had expected or hoped for, and yet here the blond was, chuckling derisively.

"Did I say something funny?" the redhead asked in a warning tone.

And this time it was the teenager's dark eyes that hardened. "It's just that… you've got it all wrong, old man. I'm surprised they let you work here, that's how wrong you got it. I didn't do jack to the lady."

They stared at one another silently, assessing what the other would do. Kyle spoke up first. "Too bad I didn't though cause she was hot."

Horatio could feel his jaw clench and couldn't help but notice the way his fingers began to twitch; he was aching for Kyle's blood, but the blond didn't have enough smarts to stop. "Especially her rack. Now _that,_" he said, sounding impressed, "could make me believe in God."

The redhead looked away, afraid of what he might do.

"C'mon. Like you haven't noticed? She's hot – and has that look like… like," Kyle paused searching for the words. "Like she'd screw you anyway you wanted."

"Son," Horatio started. "You don't –"

"Hell, she probably _has _screwed you anyway you want." There was another brief pause before Kyle added, "She sure doesn't look like the kind with standards."

And Horatio wasn't sure if it was the kid's attitude or the memory of the bruise that had him grab the boy. But the next thing he did was wrench the teen out of the chair, the metal legs scraping violently on the floor.

Kyle's brown eyes widened in fear once more, but he wasn't out of fight as the teenager's clenched fist connected with Horatio's skull.

His head rattled, the dull pain exploding in full force, and Horatio didn't think twice about fighting back. He pushed the kid roughly, and amidst the fists flying towards him, the older man's hand swiped the kid's still injured face. The wounds from earlier in the day reopened in a slick trail of crimson, and Kyle's breath hitched, contrasting the redhead's panting.

And the sight of blood gave the CSI pause, but he didn't stop fighting for more than a minute.

Kyle punched at him again, but missed, and the lieutenant used the opportunity to slam the kid down on the metal table. He held him there, the boy trapped between the steel surface and his body.

They said nothing then, the only sounds in the room their heavy breathing, and Horatio wasn't sure who should be more embarrassed by that fact.

The blood trailing from Kyle's gaunt cheek onto the table, and their war continued with the blond trying to push the older man off of him. But it was only the "Oh my God" uttered in surprise and Calleigh's features contorting in shock that had Horatio retreat.

The three words hung in the air, no one sure of what to do or say next.

And it was finally Calleigh who broke the silence. Her voice was quiet and unsure. "Um… Valera's looking for you," the southerner said, her words chosen as carefully as possible. "DNA's back."

At this Kyle slumped back down into the chair he'd sat in earlier, and Horatio knew he needed to weigh his options. He could take the exit Calleigh was offering, leave, and see what Valera had for him. Or, and this seemed much more compelling, he could stay and go for round three with the boy.

But another quick glance at his colleague, and he could see her green eyes filled with silent orders. Technically he supposed he could do what he wanted in this situation, but instead, he nodded his head towards her in deference and left the room.

As he once more made the trek to the elevator, Horatio had to admit that Calleigh was only trying to protect him. She'd meant well, and if he hadn't listened to her, I.A.B. would surely come skulking around his door.

Not that he'd really done anything wrong, the lieutenant thought. A suspect had assaulted him, and he'd retaliated. But as the elevator doors closed, Horatio noticed his own reflection then. And he couldn't ignore the bruise beginning to form on his pale face. Nor could he miss the small droplets of blood staining his hands.

Niggling doubt hit him then, and he thought that maybe he really had screwed up. Maybe he had been wrong to talk to Yelina, to come back to work afterwards… to go back into that interrogation room.

Out of the elevator and now rounding the corner to Valera's part of the lab, Horatio tried to reassure himself. Even if he hadn't been smart about the whole thing, the boy _was _there for a reason.

And now, pushing the glass door to the DNA analysis area, Horatio hoped that the science would prove him right. Valera was sitting in front of her computer, focused on what she was doing.

"Ma'am," he said to get her attention. When she looked up at him glumly, however, Horatio knew that the test results hadn't helped their case. "No match then?"

But Valera hesitated to respond, which the redhead thought was odd. She sighed and stood up. Grabbing a manila folder, the brunette handed it to him. He greedily flipped through the first few pages to see the test results.

"There was, actually. The epithelia found on the duct tape matched Kyle Harmon." And looking down at the page, Horatio could see the nice identical columns. Some people would find his job boring, and there were times when the lieutenant could agree with that, but right now… reading the test results filled him with relief.

"Thank you," he said politely – which was probably bizarre, Horatio thought, given his appearance.

He turned to leave then, but Valera told him, "Wait." Facing towards her once more, Horatio watched curiously as she hesitated once again. "There's something else."

That was decidedly bad – "something else," and the redhead could only wait to hear what she had to say. She shifted on her feet a few times before saying, "The prosecutor on the case – Rebecca Nevins. You've met her before right?" But it seemed like as soon as Valera had uttered those words, she remembered. "Never mind," she said immediately. "Of course you have… well, she wanted me to do see if his family had any history of violence, mental disease, the usual."

"Kyle doesn't have any family," Horatio said plainly.

"I know. She wanted me to see if we found any relatives in C.O.D.I.S."

The redhead frowned. Their databases weren't technically supposed to be used for that purpose. But if there was one thing Horatio was keenly aware of when it came to his ex, it was her dedication to win. And certainly, if this kid came from a long line of pedophiles or schizophrenics, that might change how Rebecca would want to prosecute the case.

"I assume you got a hit, then."

"I ran his DNA in all of our databases," she explained. "And…" Her voice trailed off. "I found a match," she said nervously. He waited for her to reveal the lucky relative was, but silence filled the air instead.

Clearly something wasn't right about what she'd found. Still, it'd be in the report he held in his hands, so the redhead smartly flipped through the pages. But what he found on the sheet of paper was something he could have never predicted.

Below Kyle's DNA sequence was his own. HORATIO CAINE written in large letters and beside it, "a match." His head began to spin at the implications, or maybe it was because his new family member had punched him in the head only moments before.

And yet… it didn't seem to register with Horatio. Surely, this kid wasn't his own… Valera had to have screwed up or maybe, just maybe, this was the result of another indiscretion Raymond had had. Obviously if his brother had cheated on Yelina once, he'd probably done it throughout their marriage, the lieutenant thought negatively. But there was no way this kid was _his own. _

Horatio looked up at Valera, her brown eyes meeting his blue ones. But he couldn't see the truth, couldn't understand what was going on.

Quietly, the analyst told him, "I ran the test four times. I collected fresh samples from Kyle Harmon. And… it all came back the same." She took a deep breath before saying, "Horatio, he's your son."

And at those words, Horatio knew that he didn't need I.A.B. or the blood – his child's blood – under his fingertips to know just how badly he'd screwed up. The file in his hands said it all. And reading over it once more, Horatio had to admit that Kyle Harmon was, without a doubt, his son.


	6. Chapter 5: Abstract Parenting

Author's Note: It bears repeating one more time – spoilers for season 6, episode 1. Though if you've made it this far, you'll see that this is very different. Kyle is Horatio's son; Yelina investigated Kyle for Horatio, but that's where the similarities end. And I'm not exactly upset about that, hehe.

Reviews and criticism are always welcome. Thank you to everyone who has left a review so far; it really does help me and inspire me to do better. And there's been no one more important to my creative process than my beta, Olly. I appreciate everything you do for me more than words can say.

_**Disclaimer: I don't own it, though sometimes I wish I did. **_

**No Other One**  
**Chapter 5: Abstract Parenting**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_It's hard to look into the tragedy of [your own soul because a very great part of you really knows how bad it was." -- Stevie Nicks_

How he'd managed to make it out of the DNA lab Horatio was never quite sure. As it was, he was now on the roof of the building, sunglasses on and the damning file in his hand. And though he was alone, there was no peace and quiet to be had here. Whispered in the wind or maybe only in his mind, "he's your son" was all Horatio could hear. He's your son repeated endlessly but still never quite making sense to his ears.

His son.

His child.

His son?

The concept was an entirely foreign one, and if it weren't for the science… If not for that one constantly dependable thing in his life, Horatio would doubt the test. But the DNA didn't lie, which meant Kyle Harmon was his son.

It meant Horatio was a father.

And not a good one at that.

The redhead's experiences with his own father had been… limited. Horatio rarely willingly thought about that man, and when he did, his mind would inevitably focus on their last few minutes together.

And even without the bloody ending, he couldn't exactly remember the man that well. There were bits and pieces, but none of the sentimentality that others seemed to have towards their family.

He hadn't realized how unique this was until Yelina's father had died. Raymond had already been gone for almost a year, and she had asked Horatio to be there. And long after the funeral, he'd sat on her couch, and she'd recounted the most vivid memories to him.

It had been almost intoxicating. Her voice was at times unsteady – far away at other instances – but Yelina had given him the lush details of her childhood. Softly, lovingly, reverently, she had described her father in a way he couldn't possibly relate to. And he had sat there with her, lapping up every detail, not because she'd needed him to. No, as much as she'd wanted him there, the truth was Horatio couldn't help but enjoy a glimpse of what might have been.

What might have been if his father hadn't been who he was.

And from childhood, Horatio never really understood what a dad should be. He'd only ever learned what not to do.

But looking back at the day's events, the redhead didn't think he'd really learned all that much. So far, he had arrested the boy – no, his son. He should get used to calling Kyle what he was, he told himself.

True enough, arresting your own child was a unique situation, one that even parents with happy childhoods couldn't anticipate. Then again, decent parenting probably precluded your son from being arrested, Horatio thought.

And even without that, he realized… throughout the day, he had believed the worst in Kyle. He'd pretended to want the truth, had feigned concern for the boy all in the hopes of getting weapons to use against the teenager. Worse still, he had picked a fight with the sole purpose of being able to hit Kyle.

The realization hit him squarely in the stomach then: he had tried so hard to turn out differently, but… Horatio was every bit his father's son. He was manipulative and deceitful, cruel and violent. Everything the redhead had hoped to never be, he now was.

He'd screwed up… so badly that there was no coming back from this. And he knew that that was true because he'd been up on the roof for at least a half hour, with only the oppressive sun and a few pigeons to keep him company. Any other time, Calleigh, Eric – someone – would have been up here by now. They would have made up some excuse to coax him from the ledge, so to speak, and the fact that they hadn't meant something had changed. It meant they no longer cared or respected him. It meant…

His throat tightened uncomfortably, and the redhead worked hard to shove the potent combination of bile and shame as far down as he could.

It meant, he started to finish the thought, that he was his father.

He was his father, and everyone knew it – had probably seen it long before Horatio ever had. And now… it just seemed like there was no way to come back from that. No way to correct his mistakes.

Still, it wasn't in him to give up. Or maybe it was just that Horatio couldn't help but torment himself with all the ways he'd never be able to correct this.

He mulled over the possibilities, tried to keep it as scientific and impersonal as possible, but… there was no way he could do that. These were the mistakes he had made. And strange though it was, Kyle _was_ his son.

As much as Horatio didn't know what that meant or what to do with his new fatherhood… another part of him seemed be awakening. Up on the roof, as one part of him wanted to deny it, another yearned to embrace the truth – needed to make things as right as they could be.

The redhead had no real understanding of how to do this, of how to fix things or of how to be a father. But he was beginning to see where he needed to start.

He'd barely spent any time with Kyle, and yet just the knowledge that they were related made him feel… well, he didn't know how to put it into words. There were no words, only an invisible tether pulling at him, demanding that he help this boy. Even though the rational part of him said it was too late, even though the lieutenant in him screamed not to do this… there was no choice.

Even with all of that, Horatio knew he had to help Kyle; he had to help his son. Because despite a limited understanding of fatherhood, this, he knew in his heart, was right. His decision made, the redhead stalked back towards the entrance to the building.

As he jerked the door to the stairwell open, Horatio realized that this choice would probably cost him… everything. He'd lose the respect of his team, at least, and the rest of his family would hate this.

He didn't pause at the thought, because even with such a high price, it would (hopefully) be worth it. He'd lose everything else, but he'd gain a son.

And there could be no more running away from that.

_End (6/??)_


	7. Chapter 6: Time to Leave

Author's Notes: This was fic was started before the season 6 premiere of CSI: Miami. So while Kyle is Horatio's son, there are still some major differences between this and the show. Hopefully, I've done the storyline justice anyway.

Thank you to all of my readers. I appreciate each and every hit that I get, and it's nice to know that someone is taking the time to read what I've written. An even bigger thanks to those of you who have left reviews and/or have favorited/alerted my fic. Feedback is awesome, and even just seeing that you want to read what happens next makes me happy.

But especially to my beta, Olly – thank you. Thanks for the encouragement and for all the comments you leave me. Thank you for putting as much passion into your betaing as I do in the writing.

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI:Miami or any of the characters. Do not sue me, please.

**No Other One  
****Chapter Six: Time to Leave**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_If you bungle raising your children, I don't think whatever else you do well matters very much." – Jackie Kennedy Onassis _

He was halfway down the stairwell when his nerves, or maybe it was realization, kicked in.

Horatio had no idea how to tell this boy the truth.

His steady pace slowed, and on the next step, the redhead faltered, his feet tripping up. Not wanting to break his neck (or this was what he told himself, at least), Horatio grabbed the warm metal railing and slowly made his way down the staircase.

All the while, he tried to think of a way to tell his son that… well, that they _were _father and son. With every step, there was a new possibility, each more ridiculous than the next. Easing into it seemed unlikely; Horatio had already pushed the boundaries with Kyle as far as they would go. The teenager was hardly going to want to sit down and chat amicably.

But then again, a straight admission wasn't preferable. What could he say really, "Hey, Kyle, sorry for getting rough with you, and by the way, I'm your dad"?

It was an impossible situation with no right answers, no distinct path to take. Only failure and rejection were assured for Horatio. And maybe, in a way, that should have made it easier. Because, if it didn't matter how he said it, then any way the truth came out would suit. The end result would be anger and disbelief, but that would always be the conclusion to this. And at least then Kyle would know.

Yet, none of this put Horatio at ease. Nor did it supply him with any amount of recklessness; the lieutenant didn't even have the determination that usually came with his job. How could he feel any confidence or relief when the end result was that his son would hate him?

The realization gave Horatio pause, and he slowed his pace even further.

Of all the things he had never prepared himself for…

He'd set himself up for many disappointments in life. So many things had failed to meet his expectations. And he'd been able to live with that – he'd _had _to accept that fact. But this…

Failing as a parent? Horatio had never prepared himself for _that. _

For the most part, he'd come to the conclusion that fatherhood was never going to happen for him. It was a fact, and the redhead had accepted that, had told himself that it was just wasn't meant to be.

And that aspect of life could easily be soothed by focusing on his niece and nephew. Maybe he shouldn't have felt this way, but helping Suzie and Yelina bolstered him, gave him some feeling of purpose outside of his job. Because, while they denied this (especially Yelina), the two women saw him in some ways as the father to their children.

A part of him knew – was well aware – that he shouldn't secretly cherish this role. He was a substitute for his brother; there could be no denying that, and sometimes, Horatio _did _hate that because Raymond should have been there.

But even while knowing that… the redhead liked playing surrogate dad. If he couldn't have his own children, this small taste seemed better than nothing. It wasn't much, perhaps, but Ray Junior and Madison got what they needed, and Horatio got what he wanted. Because as painful as it was at times, there was something so achingly comforting about being able to do this. About seeing what might have been and knowing what he _might _have had in a different life.

If… everyone involved had made different choices.

And never, not once, did Horatio imagine having a child the way Kyle had come into his life. _Never _had Horatio prepared himself for this kind of failure because he'd always assumed, maybe arrogantly so, that he'd know what to do.

True, he didn't know what it was like to have a father, but still the redhead had believed it would all come naturally. Or at least he'd die trying to be the dad every child deserved.

That's what he'd thought.

But here he was.

His son was bleeding and furious with him, and Horatio had no idea how to broach the subject. They were strangers to one another, with no relationship, good or bad, to speak of.

Though he was now taking the last step, Horatio found himself unable to move forward. Still without any idea of how to handle the situation, he sat down on the metal stair and sighed.

He hadn't even known his child _existed_, and that made him, at best, a terrible parent.

If one at all.

Because the very _foundation_ of decent parenting was that your world altered – the universe completely shifted – the moment your baby was born. But Horatio had continued to live his life all this time without even the slightest hint of a monumental change.

It hit him then; everything he'd missed. First steps, first words – first everything – lost to him forever.

And the one thing Horatio _had _done for his son he could barely remember. Briefly replaying the last few months of 1990 and all of '91 in his head, the redhead could see that his memories had faded with time.

Kyle's mother had brown hair; he could recall that much. But everything else about her seemed to be a blur of skin and liquor and clothing being removed hastily in a cheap motel room.

Even that memory had been hard to remember. And really, truth be told, Horatio had only deduced that this nameless woman had been the mother to his child because he'd glanced at Kyle's birthday in the police report.

It was pathetic and wrong, Horatio knew. His only act of fatherhood was a tiny blurb in his life. He'd had more vivid trips to the dentist than this.

The redhead sighed, rubbing his cheeks against the palms of his hands.

He'd always believed he could be a good father, but the reality was…

Horatio had absolutely nothing to offer this kid.

There were no charming stories for Kyle about how his parents fell in love. There was no sob story, where Horatio spent years looking for his son. He couldn't even claim to recognize the boy for who he was.

And what father-son relationship could grow from that? The boy obviously didn't trust Horatio. With good reason too, given his actions, the CSI thought. But putting that aside, the redhead worried that, even if he tried to help, Kyle was already too far gone.

Not that he should even begin to play savior, Horatio lamented. It was almost funny, he thought, that this one event should have him completely rethinking his life. But now… looking at everything he'd done, Horatio thought he really didn't have the right to play "daddy" to some kid.

If he told Kyle the truth, the boy wouldn't welcome him with open arms. And if he did, what would the teenager get in exchange? Horatio didn't think he had much.

He had two dead parents, a dead brother, dead wife, a furious sister-in-law, a niece and nephew he rarely saw these days. He'd killed people, had hidden behind his badge and science in order to exact his revenge. Hardly what a troubled teenager needed or deserved.

And in total, Horatio thought now that there hadn't been much he'd done of any value. He was a mess, and… maybe the boy was better off without him.

His son would be better off without his father, Horatio couldn't deny – though they were words he'd thought he'd never say. And maybe the only responsible thing to do now was to walk away. Maybe he should pretend that he'd never learned the truth. Because, really, the redhead had nothing else to offer his son except this freedom from all the trappings of being a Caine.

Sitting in the stairwell all by himself, Horatio could feel the loneliness clawing at the back of his throat. Here he was, the father to this boy, but… Kyle would never know that. And the redhead would never be a parent. The opportunity he had secretly wanted all these years was here, and he'd have to look the other way.

It killed him to admit that. Whatever pain he had felt before seemed miniscule to this. Horatio knew he'd rather bury his wife or brother again, would prefer to send Yelina off or kill his own father a hundred more times than go through this. He'd willingly walk through the circles of hell than walk away from this. So many things he'd rather do than accept that everything he'd thought about himself was a lie – rather do any of it than leave.

And yet here he was – going to do just that.

He stood up, determined to get this over with. Thinking about it some more wasn't going to help, Horatio understood. Do it like a band-aid.

Taking a step, the redhead started his mantra: I am _not _a good father, and this must be done.

His hand grabbing the metal door handle, he thought, "I am a bad father, and my son deserves better. He deserves this lie."

Entering the lab again, his hands now shaking, "You are _not _is father, and you never will be."

Heading towards the interrogation room, he said to himself, "Go in there and finish the job. _Nothing _has changed."

But the moment Horatio saw the messy-blond teenager, the boy's body slumped over lazily in his chair, the redhead knew:

Everything had changed. And though he should walk away – do what he would do under any other circumstances, in any other interrogation, Horatio couldn't. Because… for better or worse…

Everything had changed.

_End (7/??)_


	8. Chapter 7: Help

Author's Note: This is not completely compliant with season six of CSI: Miami. Thanks to my beta for all of her help and to everyone who has left reviews. I appreciate it a lot.

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI: Miami. Unfortunately. So don't sue me.

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Seven: Help**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_When one door closes, another opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us." – Alexander Graham Bell_

He wasn't going to be able to walk away.

It was a fact buried deep in his marrow, an instant if imperfect sense of paternity.

Horatio would have to tell the boy the truth. Which wasn't fair to anyone involved, the redhead understood, but looking at Kyle through the interrogation room's window… he couldn't walk away.

And feeling as though he were mentally running around in circles, he thought once more: how was he going to tell him the truth?

He really had no clue. So he asked himself, what would he do in any other situation? Horatio thought that he would try and read the person as best as he could. Get a feel for who they were – what they liked or feared – and go from there.

But that wasn't going to work here, because every assumption or guess he'd made up to this point was probably wrong. The truth was Horatio knew nothing about his son, and they were most likely passed the point where he could have learned something. Kyle certainly wasn't going open up to him now.

Pushing aside the welling guilt once more, Horatio mused that it would be nice to have a starting point with the kid. And maybe, he thought, if he pulled all the files he could find on Kyle, there'd be an answer there. It would take time, but it would be something.

But just as he set off for his office, Horatio finally realized: there _was _someone who already knew the boy's file. At least, he was sure she knew because he had essentially paid her to learn everything he wanted to now know. The redhead quickly turned around and headed towards the parking lot once more.

And yet once safely in his car, he realized: Yelina was _not _going to be in the mood to help him. In the very least, Horatio would have to apologize; he wasn't getting around that, and even then… he was sure to encounter a smug look of satisfaction on his sister-in-law's face.

Still there was no other way, and so he put the car in drive.

It wasn't that Yelina was cruel, he knew. She was not, but after everything he had said and done today… she had a right to be angry, a right to make this as difficult as she could. And considering what he would be doing to her in the end, Horatio couldn't help but feel he probably deserved each glare and every harsh word he would surely receive.

But knowing that he had earned such a reaction didn't make it any more desirable, and the redhead understood what he had to do then: she might be cold to him, but even Yelina was not immune to weakness. And lucky for him, Horatio knew exactly what his sister-in-law's weaknesses were.

Feeling more confident now, he deftly turned right at the next intersection; he was getting reinforcements.

ch7ch7ch

If his head had hurt before, now he felt as though his brain was pounding furiously against his skull. Sitting in the same room as before, Kyle didn't have a mirror, but he could tell – just by the feeling – that his face was scratched and bleeding.

And he had to whiz something awful, so all in all… not a good day.

There was blood smattering the blond hair he could see dangling in front of his face. More of the same stuck heavily to his dirty hands.

It really sucked. Totally, completely sucked.

He was not a crier, and Kyle certainly wasn't going to become one now. But these last few weeks made the rest of his life seem like a walk in the park. And today took the cake in shitty days.

At this point, he thought maybe he should just confess. Scratching absent-mindedly at the metal table in front of him, his nail slowly picked away at his dried blood on the surface. Perhaps he should confess just to get it over with, but… that wouldn't make things easier.

He could claim police brutality, given his appearance. That cop was an asshole, but Kyle _knew _that he was the one with the disadvantage. Because who would believe him? Especially after that jackass waiter had tackled him to the ground?

No one was going to take his word, and Kyle couldn't help but berate himself – if only he'd actually gotten a good shot at Lieutenant Douche. It wouldn't make his _legal _situation any better, sure. But hitting that guy would at least feel good. And he wouldn't have to think about the fact that some old man had pretty much kicked his ass.

His thoughts were cut short, though, when the door opened once more. Kyle jerked in reaction, but much to his relief, this was a different man. Thank God. Instead of annoyingly red hair, this person had dark brown hair and a suit and tie – which made the teen think that this man was a lawyer.

"I'm Rick Stetler," the man said, sitting down and pulling a tape recorder out of his dark jacket pocket. "I work in Internal Affairs, and I need to talk to you."

And Kyle knew, without understanding much about bureaucracy, that he'd just found a way out.

_End (8/??)_


	9. Chapter 8: Having your Chocolate Cake

Some Notes: There is some naughty language in this chapter. And Stetler. :-p Thank you to Olly, my beta. You make my work so much better. Also a big thanks to the people who leave reviews for me. I appreciate the feedback so much. I can't even say how much. Thank you.

_Disclaimer: I wish I owned it. But no such luck._

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Eight: Having your (Chocolate) Cake**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

_"You can have it all. You just can't have it all at once." – Oprah Winfrey_

"You wanna tell me who hurt your face?" Rick Stetler asked Kyle. His voice filled with fake concern, he spoke clearly for the tape recorder's benefit.

They'd already gone over Kyle's name and other basic, boring information. And the teenager was relieved that they were finally getting down to business. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable talking to cops; by now, the blond was unfortunately used to that. And he sure as hell didn't mind throwing himself into the mire because Kyle realized that at this point in his life, he'd never really existed outside of that.

He could handle the fight that was surely going to erupt if he was honest about what had happened. But knowing he was on the cusp of that made him feel like one of those bulls getting ready for the ring.

Still… he wasn't going to talk just yet.

"I'll tell you what you want to know," Kyle said as enticingly as possible. "But first, I want a deal."

"You tell me what happened and then – "

"No." His voice was cool and dark. And the man sitting in front of him looked… dismayed, which made Kyle happy. He wasn't going to talk or make this easy, that was for damn sure.

He'd had too many run-ins with cops to still trust them. Not that a badge made much of a difference between trustworthy and not. Because the teenager knew that most people would turn on you. The human race fucking sucked that way.

With the police, it just seemed like a given.

The man in front of him turned off the tape recorder and leaned forward, conspiratorially. Kyle remained unimpressed by this.

"I'll get you your deal," Stetler said finally. "But I'm only going to do that if you can nail Horatio Caine." The brunet licked his lips. "You promise me that, and I'll help you out."

Kyle opened his mouth to respond, but Stetler continued, "You screw me over on this, and I'll make sure you spend the next five years of your life being passed around like a chew toy."

How easily they turned on him.

Outwardly, Kyle did not react, but mentally, he knew that he would have to deliver. He'd have to peg this cop or else… he was fucked in every sense of the word.

"So should I get on the phone and get you a deal?" Stetler asked, interrupting his thoughts.

And though he knew the risks, Kyle couldn't see how he'd avoid if he said no to the cop. Horatio Caine hadn't been responsible for all of the damage to his face, but the red-haired asshole had done his part; the blond could just say that and save himself. Because it was the truth, and this time _no one _could deny him that.

No one would say that he was lying or screw him over. Sure, they might try, but he wasn't going to let them win. True, he had learned you couldn't trust anyone. But from that, Kyle had learned to rely on himself. And this deal would work – if only because he would _make _it happen.

This time, nothing would keep him off the track of freedom.

His brown eyes met Stetler's, determined. Defiant. "Do it," he said with finality.

ch8ch8ch

Across town, waiting impatiently in the French café, Horatio thought about Kyle once more. There were brief moments where the redhead could think of other things, but his mind easily drifted back to the boy.

It seemed half-dream, half-nightmare that the recalcitrant teen should be his son. And as he watched another teenager put together his take out, Horatio could only hope he hadn't screwed things up with Yelina too badly. Because without her help, he knew everything would be even harder to deal with. Without her… there might be no hope at all.

But he was pulled from his thoughts as he saw the teenager putting _lemon_ cakes into the brown bag with "CAINE" written on it in red marker.

"Wait," Horatio said, holding his hand up to stop the kid. "I asked for the chocolate ones." His voice was borderline panicked, but he knew what the disastrous results would be if he showed up at his sister-in-law's doorstep with the tart treat. She was not finicky about food, but Yelina preferred sweet things to sour ones. And if he bought the lemon cakes, bought what _he _liked instead of the almost cloyingly alternative that she loved… well, it wouldn't help his cause, the redhead knew that much.

When the teenager began to fix his mistake, Horatio didn't bother to hide his sigh of relief. He had enough problems as it was, and once more, his thoughts turned to Kyle. And grabbing the dinner and dessert, he paused, the niggling doubt forcing itself to the front of his mind. This could all be a mistake.

But… there was nothing to be done about that. He would hurt this part of his family; it would be Ray Junior and her or the boy, never both, and maybe it was wrong to use her now. Perhaps he should find another way, given that soon enough Yelina would hate him forever.

Then again, Horatio thought as he got back into his car, what other options were there, really? She would undoubtedly know more about the boy than anyone else at this point, and… if he wanted his son, then he would have to hurt her to do it.

But it had to be done.

In the spacious Hummer, but feeling more trapped than ever, Horatio started the car and drove away.

ch8ch8ch

Not much had changed in the hours since her brother-in-law had left… but at least she didn't want to kill him anymore. Which wasn't much, Yelina realized, but it was something.

After cleaning every inch of the house, the brunette had felt her anger begin to subside. Her muscles had ached, and exhaustion had started to settle in, and so it seemed too much to still be _that _angry. Instead of thinking of all the things she could say to him the next time she saw him, Yelina had contemplated a nap.

But just as she had been ready to tell Ray Junior to fend for himself, her contact at DHS had finally returned her call. And with it had come Kyle Harmon's foster records and family history.

It was not short by any means, and Yelina wasn't sure what exactly had compelled her to look at the records. This assignment was over, and any information about Kyle was now… irrelevant. But her contact had worked hard, so she had downloaded the long document and printed it out.

Transfixed, the woman had read the entire thing, each page more horrific than the last. Halfway through, and Yelina hadn't been able to stop herself from thinking that this boy's life was nothing more than a series of betrayals. His mother murdered, his father non-existent, and afterwards, the blond had spent his life bouncing from one inadequate foster home to another.

The expectation of disappointment – she had seen it in the boy's eyes earlier today. He had been suspicious of her, of everyone for that matter. And the cop that remained in her had screamed out for justice, but the mother in her hadn't been able to fight an overwhelming sadness.

Sitting on her bed, the packet of information neatly stacked next to her on the comforter, she no longer thought of Horatio, but of this boy. Whatever had happened earlier no longer plagued her or angered her. That hardly seemed important at all. Because now she could see… Kyle Harmon was essentially ruined, formed and twisted from the life he'd led up to this point. Whatever life he could have had, Yelina thought was gone forever now.

"Normal" would be nothing more than a word to him, a concept, a wish that always remained elusive. His future was already determined in one way or another, she knew. The teen would either turn out like her husband or her brother-in-law, and neither seemed… appropriate for anyone.

Both men were self-destructive, in so many ways unable to escape their past. And Yelina understood that several people would argue differently, but she had never seen the good boy/bad boy dichotomy everyone else insisted upon. Raymond and Horatio were equally problematic.

Her brother-in-law was quieter, much more reserved. He was _so _reluctant to show any emotion. Horatio wasn't cold or mean but there was always this wall. The brunette supposed she understood him as well as anyone could, but even then… sometimes she wondered if his kindness to her was nothing more than an obligation.

They didn't talk to one another very much nowadays, and she could count the number of times he had touched her on one hand.

Yelina sighed. Every now and then, they would… take a step forward, but it inevitably led to something going wrong. And it had been so _long_ since anything had happened that she began to think nothing would ever happen. Maybe she was just never meant to be close to him.

Or maybe she just didn't know how to get through to him. Because the brunette understood, given her own temperament, she was much better suited for Raymond. Where as Horatio couldn't get close to anyone, her husband had been the opposite. He had been almost… obsessed in his need to best everyone.

Ray had been quick to act, always filled with emotion, and never afraid to show it. He did not hesitate to show her how much he loved her. But so too did the man unflinchingly give into his anger, his despair, and his weaknesses.

In the end… both men were imperfect, and Yelina clutched a pillow to her chest, wondering what it said about _her _that she wanted to be everything for both of them.

Pulling herself out of her thoughts, the brunette looked down at herself. After all that cleaning, she felt dirty and decided to take a shower.

And as the nearly scalding water cascaded down her back, Yelina couldn't help but think of Kyle once more. Horatio had been so wrong about the boy. Or maybe not, given his rap sheet, but some part of her truly believed that the teenager had at one point been full of potential. Filled with possibilities until his mother had been murdered, and the blond had been tossed into foster care without a second thought.

There was a brief moment where the words seemed to pervade the misty air swirling around her. And as she brushed a wet curl out of her face, the realization hit her, so hard that she thought for a moment her legs might collapse under the weight of it all.

After she had taken the P.I. job, Yelina had told Horatio that she had Ray Junior to think about, and he'd thrown those very words back at her. Since then, she'd thought about that day a lot, and she would be lying to say that she _hadn't _considered the dangers of this line of work. But now…

Now she knew. Now she could see, in Kyle, how Ray Junior would turn out if something happened to her.

Her son was already no angel. He regularly flirted with disaster, and the mother worried that she had failed. That no matter what she did, or would do, Ray would do something he couldn't get out of.

And if something happened to her?

Yelina was not naïve to think her presence alone would stop her son from going down that road. But… at least now there was someone to tell him no, someone to _try _and give him boundaries. And without her, Ray wouldn't think twice about doing something stupid. He would end up like Kyle Harmon or worse.

Which meant there was only one thing she could do to protect her son. Sighing in the shower, her throat constricting tightly, Yelina finally accepted that in this Horatio was right: she would have to quit her job.

_End (9/??)_


	10. Chapter 9: Apologies and Explanations

Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone who has read my fic so far and reviewed. I really appreciate the feedback. Sorry this chapter is a little late, but I had real life issues so Horatio had to wait. A big thanks to my beta, whose love for Ray Junior made me think twice about my chapter. Thank you for all your help and encouragement, Olly.

_Disclaimer: Don't own it, so don't sue me for it._**  
**

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Nine: Apologies and Explanations**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_In some families, _please _is described as the magic word. In our house, however, it was _sorry._" – Margaret Laurence_

He was nervous – not shaking thankfully but almost. When Yelina was angry, she could be so unnerving, Horatio thought. Not that he was ever truly comfortable around her. But now that the redhead was in the wrong, now that he needed her help, he felt more anxious than ever.

The car ride had been anything but relaxing. Driving in rush hour traffic was bad enough; worrying that the food would get cold and that she wouldn't help him amplified the flips his stomach was making. His jaw remained clench so tightly that he worried his teeth might break.

Pulling up to her house, Horatio sighed in relief when he picked up the warm bag of takeout. One less thing to worry about at least.

Yelina quickly answered the door, her hair damp and body stiff. Looking at her, the redhead noted that the bruise from earlier was no longer visible thanks to the top she was wearing. And he vaguely wondered how many other times she had hid bruises from him.

The redhead forced the thought into the back of his mind. Right now he needed her help, _not _to make things any worse than they already were.

His eyes meeting her own, Horatio could see a small spark of surprise flit through the hazel irises. But Yelina didn't say anything, and he watched, entranced, as she leaned against the wooden door expectantly. She wasn't going to make this easy. And the brother-in-law understood that he really didn't have the right to ask for it to be simple, but… sometimes, he wished to be given things that he hadn't earned.

The words seemed to be caught in his dry throat, but she seemed willing to wait him out. Finally, Horatio managed to push out, "I… I brought food." He held up the bag for her to see. "Are you hungry?"

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, and folded her arms across her chest. He sighed once more. He'd hoped, against his better judgment, that the act itself would be all that needed to be said.

But this time, the redhead understood that he'd gone too far. Yes, he had pushed past this particular boundary, her privacy, before. And truth be told, Horatio didn't really understand what made this instance worse. Maybe she'd just gotten sick of it. Or perhaps Yelina now felt that, after being so wrapped up in his own pain, he had no right to… waltz into her life with the need to protect her.

Not that it really mattered now. Horatio was simply going to have to do better than lure her with food.

"All right," he said quietly in defeat. Shifting on his feet, the brother-in-law began, "I shouldn't have…" His voice trailed off; he had no idea how to finish what he wanted to say. Quickly, Horatio berated himself. He should have rehearsed what he was going to tell her.

Wriggling around some more, he told her, "I didn't listen to you earlier… and I'm very sorry for that." The redhead looked down and away from the brunette as he apologized. He wasn't sure what he expected her to do or say. But Horatio understood all too well that if she rejected him now, that if she refused to forgive him, the situation would be unbearable. His blue eyes focused on his dark shoes against the light cement. Waiting for a response, the man quickly worked at building a wall around him. If Yelina said no, he would _not _give her access to his disappointment. Or any more weapons to use against him.

Mentally guarded from her, his eyes looked up towards Yelina once more, searching her face for an answer she would not verbally give. He'd prepared himself for her anger – he was used to that by now. Horatio had anticipated smugness tainting her beautiful features. But what he saw was something completely different.

A slight smile played on her lips, mirth dancing around her now vibrantly green eyes. He could tell immediately, by her appearance, that he'd succeeded, and Horatio mentally made a note to remember how to apologize to her. Because once she learned the truth about Kyle, the new father was going to be doing this over and over.

But Yelina didn't immediately let him in. Instead he watched as her eyes traveled over to the bags, reading the name, trying to hide a smile. Finally, she asked, "Did you get the little –"

"Chocolate cakes," he finished for her. "Uh huh. I did."

Her white teeth bit down on the soft flesh of her lip. The redhead knew he was in, but watched as she pretended to vacillate. She was without a doubt making this as difficult for him as possible, but there was no malice behind it. And Horatio couldn't help but relish this part of her personality.

These days he rarely saw his sister-in-law at all, and when he did, it was always about business. The redhead hadn't thought about it all that much – he avoided thinking about Yelina as much as possible – but now in this moment… it was a welcome change of pace.

She sighed, stepping out of the entrance way and letting him in.

The dinner that preceded was achingly normal. Though they hadn't done this in a long time, Horatio and Yelina, along with Ray Junior, slipped back into their normal places. After the adults had set the table, the teenager had chosen to eat the fattiest meals of the take out Horatio had brought. The brunette chose the fish – probably because she knew there was cake, he thought. The brother-in-law took what was left, a dinner of beef that he didn't particularly like.

But the redhead couldn't help but savor the whole experience, because it would surely be an even longer time before he would be allowed to do this again. And a thought hit him then that maybe… if there was a next time, Kyle would be here with them as well.

Thinking of what was to come, Horatio watched the mother-son pair in front of him. Carefully, obsessively, he observed each moment exchanged between the two. Though he'd seen them interact regularly over the years, this time it was different for the redhead. Because now he was studying them.

Perhaps a father should be different with his son, but this was the best the redhead had at the moment. He hoped the rules of parenting could be applied to either sex.

It wasn't easy to look at his family with scientific disinterest. Yelina and Ray Junior were close in a way that Horatio had never been with either of his parents. The brother-in-law always felt like an intruder, someone who did not deserve to stand in the mere presence of this kind of love. And he had to forcefully push aside his feelings as he looked upon them.

Now was the time to learn _how _to be that kind of parent – not to stare dumbly, fascinated, at it. Parenting 101, Horatio supposed bitterly. It was so… pathetic, he thought, the way that he had no idea how to do this instinctively.

But this was not a time for self-pity. It couldn't be. What the redhead didn't understand intuitively (which was everything) he'd have to learn. His own father had left him empty-handed, but Horatio _wouldn't_ do that to his own child.

He would just… figure out how to do this.

At that moment, Ray Junior asked him a question. And as his lips replied to the small talk, his mind sought to absorb everything around him: the way Yelina would sometimes brush a stray curl out of her son's face or absently touch the boy's forearm. It didn't seem forced, Horatio thought; this wasn't for his benefit. Nor did her actions ever seem overdone.

His sister-in-law was an aberration in the Caine family. That much the redhead realized. In that moment, Yelina was not trying to manipulate the teenager, wasn't putting on a show, or waiting until something had gone horribly wrong to give affection. No, this was so… natural, unconscious almost. And the way Ray Junior paid absolutely no attention to it told Horatio that this kind of doting was welcome. Or at least, the boy had learned to accept it as a fact of life.

Eating a bite of his dinner, the redhead couldn't help but think he would never have that kind of relationship with Kyle. Too much time had passed, and… well, Horatio hadn't made up for that in any way. But surely anything he could pick up would be helpful.

At least there was the knowledge that Horatio couldn't really make things any _worse. _And with that in mind, for the rest of dinner, the brother-in-law pushed aside his doubts and watched his two companions.

Part of him thought eventually that it was interesting studying them like this. He'd never noticed it before, but now he could see just how good Yelina was. She could be commanding and domineering, he knew, and yet Horatio had never realized just how subtle she could be. Instead of dirty looks or yelling, there were only small manipulations, quiet admonishments, and tiny acts of encouragement. And from that came Ray's confession about failing a test.

The teenager looked to his uncle for help, and Horatio thought sadly that at least _that_ was something he could do. And if he could be of some use to his nephew, then maybe those results could be… replicated for his own son. The idea of which carried him through the rest of the dinner.

As Yelina cleared their plates, Horatio followed Ray Junior to the teen's bedroom. The brunet had said he'd wanted help, but the redhead had recognized immediately the mischief in the boy's eyes.

And when they seemed to be out of his sister-in-law's range of hearing, Horatio waited for Ray to start talking. But when he did not, the uncle asked more bluntly than he would have liked, "So what happened with the test, Ray?"

Truth be told, it sounded almost accusatory, and Horatio kicked himself mentally. He wasn't good at this – not with Ray or anybody else.

Yet the boy didn't seem to mind. Ray Junior carefully shut the door closed behind Horatio. "I failed it," he said with a shrug. It was such a cavalier answer, like one the boy's father would have given in his youth.

The unimpressed redhead trained his blue eyes on his nephew.

"Fine – look, it was an accident. I would have done fine on the test, but… I fell asleep."

Horatio nodded his head up and down, but not for a second did he believe the teenager. "Raymond," he said in warning.

"I slept through the damn thing," Ray Junior repeated insistently.

"If you need help" the uncle started, "then all you have to do is ask. But…" He wouldn't accuse the boy of lying, just allowed the insinuation to hang in the air.

The brunet looked away from Horatio, and for a moment, the man wondered if he'd gone too far. After all, today seemed to be the day to do that. First Yelina, then Kyle, and now his nephew. He sighed.

But looking at the boy in front of him, Horatio couldn't help but watch curiously. Ray wasn't fuming silently or turning away in shame. Instead, he was searching through his knapsack.

And a triumphant, "Ha," filled the air when the teenager yanked sheets of paper stapled together from the black bag. Turning around, Ray handed Horatio the test.

Skimming it, the redhead could see that aside from the first question and the place to put your name, Ray had left the thing blank. But looking at it further, the CSI could see a watermark, which had trickled its way down the page. All around the line was smudged ink. And even more noticeable was the way Ray's handwriting on his sole answer became messier and messier. Before stopping all together.

The cop inside reminded Horatio that this easily could have been faked. If Ray Junior hadn't wanted to take the test and fail, then he could have pretended to fall asleep. But to what end? Either way, it was a failing grade. And this was his nephew…

Horatio wouldn't ordinarily take this at face value, but… all day he'd been trusted his instincts, only to be proven wrong. And if he was going to try and make things right with his son, then he was going to have to get used to trusting his family.

Still…

"Why were you sleeping in class?" Horatio asked out loud.

"It's not like I planned on it," Ray responded hotly.

They stood in heated silence until another question plagued the redhead. It struck him as odd, the whole thing. And so he asked, "Why would you tell your mother that you failed then?"

"I did."

"_Ray_."

"If I told her that I'd fallen asleep, then you know she'd just be all, like, tucking me into bed at 8 o'clock." Horatio opened his mouth to disagree, but Ray continued, "Oh, come on, Uncle Horatio. You _know _she would. Crap, she'd probably sit and watch to make sure I did go to sleep."

"So you'd rather your mother think…" Well, the redhead didn't really know how to finish the thought.

"That I don't know how to balance an equation?" He nodded his head emphatically. "I'm sure her heart's really broken."

They seemed to be at a stand still. What exactly was Horatio supposed to do now? Telling Yelina the truth was hardly appealing. It felt like he'd be ratting his nephew out – probably because he was. And in any case, he could hardly get information from his sister-in-law if she was yelling at Ray.

But letting his nephew go unchecked seemed just as wrong. Yet, the idea of dealing out an admonishment or punishment himself wasn't any better than staying quiet. Because Horatio was only an uncle and hardly a good one at that. He sighed.

"You won't do it again?" His voice was more pleading than he would have liked.

"You're not going to tell her?"

"No."

"Cool."

"Tell me you won't do it again," he said once more.

"Yeah, okay." The boy shrugged his shoulders.

Horatio put his hands on his hips. "Well, that sounded convincing," he said sarcastically.

Ray hesitated before reaching into his knapsack once more, the sound of the zipper and clutter being shifted filling the air. Feeling around the bag, the teenager grabbed a CD. He twirled it around on his finger as he asked Horatio, "Can you keep a secret?"

The new father wanted to say, "You have no idea," but instead, he nodded his head.

"Cool. Truth is… I've been a little busy lately, and… I totally forgot that the test was this week." The teenager sat down at his computer and put the CD inside the disc drive.

"Busy with what?" the uncle asked. But the question was moot as the disc started whirling around inside the computer. Quickly, the screen started to flash animated acts of violence to punk music. "You've been playing videogames," Horatio said disdainfully.

"No!" Ray said quickly. And then under the pressure of the redhead's piercing blue eyes, the teenager backtracked, "Okay, yeah. But this isn't_ just _a videogame."

"Really?" His voice was filled with incredulity.

"Okay, it _is _just a videogame," he admitted. "But I wasn't _playing_ it." And then he sighed. "Okay, I _was _but –"

"Why don't you start at the beginning?" Horatio suggested.

"Okay." The boy sat down in the chair in front of his computer. "One of the radio stations has a contest where you design a videogame, and then on Halloween, everyone gets together, plays each other's games, and the winner gets a cash prize." The teenager held up a hand. "And before you say it… look, I know I should have realized the test was this week."

"But you got wrapped up in what you were doing," the redhead finished.

"Sort of..." Ray seemed to hesitate, but Horatio knew better than to force a confession. Because at least in this respect, the teenager was easy to handle; he was very rarely reluctant to say anything, and usually when he seemed that way, it was an act.

The boy ran a hand through his loose curls. "I work on it at my friend Todd's house. He takes care of the storyline; I do the technical stuff."

"Right."

"Anyway, he had a really good idea the other night so I… you know, snuck out. We worked till school started, and I… fell asleep" He shrugged again.

"Does your mother know about this?"

Ray laughed derisively. "_Yeah_, you think I'd be alive if she did?"

Horatio narrowed his eyes on the boy. "She has a right to –"

"And what am I supposed to say? 'Sorry, Mom, but I snuck out the other night and didn't come back till 6:30 so you wouldn't know I'd left'? I might as well pick out my funeral plot now." His voice was filled with sarcasm, as if to say that the redhead had been clearly mistaken for wanting to tell Yelina.

The uncle sighed.

"You can't tell her," Ray said insistently.

"Raymond."

"Uh uh. You can't tell her." The teenager smiled then, looking exactly like his father. "You're already in the dog house." Horatio must have bristled visibly at the idea, because Ray continued, "Oh don't even. I've lived in this house long enough to know when my own mother is mad at someone." The brunet stood up once more. "Don't worry. You were only psychotic-cleaning fodder."

The boy started to head for the door, but Horatio wasn't finished with this conversation. "Ray, do you really expect me to keep this from her?"

He turned around. "Well… yeah. Cause I also know _you_ pretty well, Uncle Horatio. And you wouldn't be here unless you knew you'd screwed up." The redhead opened his mouth to disagree, but it was no use. "Oh, come on! You come here for two reasons, and since I haven't done anything really stupid – well you didn't know about the test. So that only leaves room for you to have messed up."

"That's an interesting theory," the uncle started to say. "But –"

"More than a theory cause I'm right," he said smugly. "And you know I'm right because why else would you show up unannounced with food Mom loves?" The redhead had no response for that. "Face it, Uncle H. You can't tell her what's going on, because she'll kill us both."

And Horatio didn't know what to say then. Part of him couldn't deny that there was some logic in Ray's argument. But more to the point, the redhead was here for a reason – to learn more about Kyle – and telling her the truth now would make that impossible. Sighing inwardly, he decided one more secret couldn't hurt.

"So… are we done?' Ray asked.

Looking the boy over, Horatio thought he looked agitated. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

"Nothing," the brunet replied. "It's just… well, Mom stopped doing the dishes five minutes ago."

"Uh huh."

"Which means she's been alone with the dessert for just that long." Well, when the boy put it like that… "And call me crazy, but I don't think her willpower –"

"Yeah, all right," Horatio agreed. The teenager jerked the door open and walked out as though nothing had happened.

But for the redhead, the task was not quite so easy. He could keep this a secret, but maybe that wasn't such a good thing. Because this either made him the world's greatest uncle… or potentially the world's worst prospective parent. As he reentered the kitchen, Horatio just didn't know which anymore.

_End (10/??)_


	11. Chapter 10:  Julia

Author's Notes: Obviously I've said this before, but in these next few chapters especially, it's important to remember that this story was started before the Kyle-related episodes aired on U.S. television. As such, there are some differences between the show and what you'll see written here. Thanks to my beta, Olly, for all of her help. Reviews are always welcome and appreciated.

**Disclaimer: I don't own the show… obviously. **

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Ten: Julia**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_A lie would have no sense unless the truth were felt dangerous." -- Alfred Adler_

Entering the kitchen, he could see his sister-in-law sitting quietly, somberly, on the couch.

A quick glance to the kitchen table, and he realized then that Yelina had not eaten all of the small chocolate cakes. On a large crystal plate, the remaining treats had been neatly stacked; their decimated numbers meant his sister-in-law had clearly snuck a few while Horatio was talking to Ray Junior. And the redhead could tell that, from the sigh of relief, his nephew was pleased that dessert hadn't disappeared completely.

Ray looked over at his uncle, his brown eyes meeting Horatio's blue ones. Neither said anything, but it was more than enough. The teenager knew when it was time to get lost, so he grabbed a warm cake, and headed back towards his room, shoving the dessert into his mouth whole.

Alone for the first time in the two hours or so he'd been there, Horatio felt his nerves return full force. He didn't like the idea of asking her for help; it went against everything he'd learned in life. And especially when the redhead knew he was essentially lying to her, it felt so… wrong.

But unavoidable, because there were no other options.

How many times had Horatio told himself that today? He couldn't even begin to count, but it seemed like, since Kyle had shown up, the redhead had become Faust. Constantly making deals with the devil to extend a death that would surely come in the end. And he could tell himself that options were scant, but it wouldn't matter when Yelina found out the truth. It would make no difference that there wasn't a choice now, because there had been choices to make before.

But as he'd been traveling down this path sixteen years in the making, there was no turning back now. Mustering up what little courage he had left, Horatio quietly walked over to the couch where Yelina sat.

Her elbow was propped on the white sofa's arm, her head cradled in the palm of her hand. Or at least, Horatio thought this was the case, as her now dry, dark curls nearly obscured her perfectly manicured nails entirely.

His sister-in-law's eyes were closed, black lashes delicately kissing the tops of her cheeks. Her breathing was slow and even, and for a moment, the redhead worried that she'd fallen asleep.

But just as the thought flitted through his mind, Yelina said, "I'm awake." The brunette's voice was slightly jumbled, her accent thicker than normal. And Horatio concluded that she'd either had too much to drink at dinner or had fallen asleep. Though knowing her, the two concepts weren't mutually exclusive.

Her hazel eyes slowly opened, searched around, before meeting his gaze.

"Too much wine with dinner?" he asked.

She smiled wryly. "Too much food with my wine."

Horatio stood there in the middle of the coral-painted room, unsure of what to say next. There had been a time, after Raymond had died, when the in-laws had been close; conversation had been easy, never forced.

But now, it felt odd to talk to her about anything other than Ray Junior or work. Sure, this involved work as well, the redhead understood, but it was also personal… and in a setting that he wasn't entirely comfortable with. He shifted on his feet, looking away from her.

"Is there something you need?" she asked, almost sweetly. The question was laced with a hint of suspicion, which he could hardly blame her for.

Still he hesitated to answer truthfully. "Um… I –"

"It's just… we've seen each other three times in one day – not like you," Yelina told him.

"Well," he started. "I wanted to… apologize for earlier." And even though he had already done that, shame bubbled up within him once more.

"You have," the brunette said reassuringly. Her words, he thought, were slightly abrupt, but not cruel. The soft lilt in her voice eased whatever bite they had, and she turned on the couch to face him more easily. "So I guess it's hard to understand why you're still here." _That_ was less gentle, and he could see her features harden slightly. "Not that I mind," Yelina said carefully. "You just… like to keep your distance these days."

His throat seemed to close at the thinly veiled accusation, and Horatio couldn't help but think of the way his sister-in-law had manipulated the truth from Ray Junior at dinner. She was so good at it – not in her ability to remain clandestine – but in her effectiveness. Because right now, he felt so guilty, and yet she had hardly said anything at all.

"And I'm sorry about that," the redhead told her, not for the first time.

She bit down on her lip like she had when he'd first arrived, but there was no longer an impish feeling about it; the movement seemed real, and he was sure there was much more she wanted to say. Probably how he always said that, but never changed. And yet, Yelina remained silent.

So he continued, figuring that he should at least get to his purpose before she kicked him out. "There is something I need from you."

His sister-in-law raised an eyebrow and sat up straighter. "Yes?"

"Kyle Harmon, Yelina."

Her eyes darkened. "Yes?" But this time, the question was said through almost gritted teeth. And Horatio thought that this couldn't be a good sign if his son was already a bone of contention.

But he pressed forward. "I… want to know what you've learned about him."

Silence filled the room; she was even more suspicious now, and truth be told, the redhead couldn't blame her. Especially since his intentions weren't all that great. However, he was loath to let her in on that, and so he tried to maintain a look of innocence.

It worked.

"What do you want to know?" Once again, Yelina's words were carefully chosen.

"Everything."

She nodded her head. "All right. I'll get his file for you." Slowly, almost reluctantly, the brunette stood up. Her hands flattened the top she was wearing – Yelina was always meticulous about her appearance – before leaving the room.

Horatio stood in the living room, waiting for her to come back. But after a minute, he got tired of doing nothing. Kyle was sitting in the interrogation room no doubt, and here his father was, trying to act as though nothing had happened. Not wanting to be alone with his thoughts, the redhead went into the kitchen and started looking for the paper filters necessary to make coffee.

At least if he was doing something, he wouldn't have time to think about his son. At least if he was doing something kind, unwarranted, then maybe Horatio could believe he was actually a decent person.

Taking the spot she had occupied on the plush white couch, he could smell Yelina's perfume mingling with the percolating coffee. It was not an intoxicating combination; Horatio would have liked to think he had more control than that. But there was no denying…

Sometimes, he wanted her so badly that the redhead was sure he would not be able to resist. He sighed as Yelina, a large stack of papers in her hands, came back into the room. Setting the information Horatio had asked for next to him on the couch, the brunette sat back down, this time in an armchair across from him.

"Thank you," the brother-in-law said honestly.

"Sure." She smiled slightly at him.

"I started coffee," he told her lamely, and her smile widened.

"Thank you."

Looking down at the stack, Horatio almost dreaded having to go through it all now. He was eager as well, sure. After all, that was why he was here, wasn't it? This was his son's… life summarized for him, and the redhead couldn't help but feel like he was about to open Pandora's box.

Did the boy have a relatively happy childhood? What if his son was absolutely nothing like him? Would they ever be able to act like a normal family? Had too much time passed for that to happen? Were all the answers in this large packet of information? What if it didn't help Horatio at all?

Questions filled his mind, making him feel dizzy, and he was unsure of where to begin, what answers to seek first.

All of this, he knew, would take time – easily a few hours – and that was something he couldn't afford at the moment. And once again, his thoughts drifted back to Kyle. His son was sitting in a holding cell, while Horatio was going to read old documents to learn things he probably should have already known. A sigh escaped before he had the chance to stifle it.

"Ask me what you want to know, Horatio," Yelina's voice interrupted his thoughts.

This time the brother-in-law did not hesitate. "Everything. I want to know everything."

She looked at him suspiciously once more, and he made a mental note to stop seeming so eager. "What is with you and this kid?"

He could tell her the truth, possibly. But Horatio hadn't thought of how to do that… he looked away from her. Making a mental note, the redhead told himself that from now on, he would have to think of exactly what he wanted to say before ever entering into a conversation with his sister-in-law again.

But for now… Horatio would have to lie. And so he did.

"I've been… wrong all day when it comes to him," he admitted. Lies sounded more like the truth if there was just a hint of veracity in them, he thought. And already, the redhead had admitted that he was wrong about that. "The boy is guilty, but I don't know…" The right words escaped him.

But it seemed to be enough, because she nodded her head, her curls bouncing slightly. "All right." Sighing, Yelina asked, "You want to know everything?"

"Yes."

"Okay…" She looked him over once more, perhaps thinking that the truth would present itself to her; Horatio hoped that it remained hidden until he was ready. "Born in 1991, in Miami, to a woman named Julia Alvarez."

The redhead looked down at his worn hands. So that was the mother of his child. It meant nothing to him. Or rather, it did _now. _But only in relation to his son, because she was still little more than tiny pieces of memory.

Maybe this was a mistake, Horatio thought. He should have known that she was pregnant, he told himself then. He should have… figured it out at some point. Or maybe he should have known better than to sleep with a perfect stranger. Getting away with stupid mistakes had been Raymond's forte, never his. And even then, his brother had failed at doing _that _half the time.

"Are you all right?" Yelina asked him.

He had no idea what to say, and she frowned in response.

"Do you know her?" The redhead shuffled uncomfortably on the couch. Offhandedly, the sister-in-law added, "The name sounds familiar to me, but I…"

He was no longer listening to what she had to say, so sure that he would be caught any moment. His breathing quickened, and Horatio fought to keep from hyperventilating. If she figured out the truth now, he would learn nothing… because she would kill him.

And he waited, hands clenched tightly, the short nails biting into the flesh of his palms. His legs were tense, ready for him to leap up, should she discover the truth.

But the moment passed, thankfully. No revelation came to her, as she shrugged away the thought with, "But I don't know."

Forcing himself to relax once more, Horatio shook his head. Another lie couldn't hurt so he said, "Me neither."

"Nothing on the birth certificate for a father," Yelina told him. "So if you were hoping to find him, there's no information about him at all. In everything I've read other than social workers tried to locate the man after Julia died."

He swallowed hard, hoping that he didn't look too guilty.

"Afterwards, Kyle's stepfather, Tom Harmon, didn't ask for custody. And there were no other living relatives so the boy went into foster care."

Horatio nodded his head solemnly. "How did his mother die?"

It seemed like an innocuous question, but the look on Yelina's face suggested it was anything but. She frowned deeply then, hesitating to answer.

"I…" The brunette started to say, but she left the thought unfinished, closing her mouth once more.

"Yelina?" He leaned forward, waiting for an answer.

"I think… it would be best if you read that part yourself," she said simply. "It's ten pages or so in." It made no sense to him, why she would be so reticent, but he had no choice but to obey. And so he picked up the huge stack of papers lying next to him and started to leaf through the pages.

Until he came across the police report. That… was not a good sign, and Horatio half-heartedly listened to Yelina say that she would pour him a cup of coffee. The sound of her heels hitting the kitchen tile registered in his mind, but he paid little attention to the noise.

His eyes skimmed down the header on the white page. And what he read… he could hardly believe. Kyle truly was his son.

_End (11/??)_


	12. Chapter 11: Dead Ends

Author's Notes: Once again, this couldn't have been done without my beta, Olly. Thank you for all your help. And also, once again, I do not own CSI: Miami. Nobody's making money off of this fic… unfortunately, because that would be awesome. But I'm not so don't sue.

_Remember: reviews are love and always appreciated._

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Eleven: Dead Ends**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_Modern man likes to pretend that his thinking is wide-awake. But this wide-awake thinking has led us into the mazes of a nightmare in which the torture chambers are endlessly repeated in the mirrors of reason." – Octavio Paz_

Kyle truly was his progeny, and in this, _this_ was a way Horatio had never wanted the boy to resemble him. But there it was on the police report – something that connected the two.

And it was no surprise why Yelina hadn't been able to tell him the truth. Because as meddlesome as Horatio could be, even _he _could understand her reluctance.

He sighed, unable to stop himself from reading every horrific detail. In inappropriately neat type font, the page told him everything. At age six, Kyle had been found with bloody hands by a neighbor. The boy's mother, Julia, had been murdered – stabbed to death – by her husband, Tom Harmon.

The redhead closed his eyes, could picture the woman he had slept with in his mind. But now, the image was different, had drastically changed. The sensual memory of her hands was replaced with something gorier. He could no longer remember how she had felt moving against him; Horatio could no longer concentrate on the sounds she had made.

Because now everything was tainted with the image of her being bludgeoned to death.

Flipping through the packet of information, Horatio was grateful that there were no crime scene photos. But he didn't need them. What he couldn't see for himself was easily created in his own mind. Other memories of bloody crime scenes pieced themselves together until they overlaid the memory of Julia with him; the last moment he had spent with his mother now mingling with this woman, until he could no longer tell the difference between them.

Until he could almost feel the knife in his hands, as though he himself had killed her. The blade easily slipping through her olive skin, blood poured onto his hands. There was no masked criminal in his mind – just him and the knife and her. And Horatio felt as though he couldn't breathe

He was awake, but he could only see her. Could only picture this nightmare, this unwanted reality. His breath coming in short spurts, he couldn't tear himself away from the gory images. Because he'd seen death, knew exactly what it was like to see someone take their last breath, but this was different.

This was his son's _mother. _

And it no longer surprised him that Kyle should turn out the way he had. The boy had experienced at age six what Horatio had barely been able to recover from at eighteen.

And it no longer mattered who actually killed her, because the redhead_knew_ that this was his fault. If he had kept in touch with her or… something, then maybe she wouldn't have married a murderer. If they hadn't parted ways after a single night together, then perhaps Horatio could have protected her and… _their_ son.

Or maybe not because… the redhead's presence hadn't spared his own mother.

He was so _useless_. So pathetic in his inability to protect the people who mattered most, he chided, and the police report in his hands became all but forgotten.

And in his despair, he failed to notice the subtle movement of the couch, didn't feel the way the sofa shifted. The tiny clink of a coffee cup being set down on the glass coffee table in front of him only dimly registered in his mind.

"Horatio?" But he did not respond to the voice, so sure he was that it was nothing more than an imagined whisper.

Only when her hand lightly touched his did he turn to look at her. Yelina's warm fingers softly stroked the rough skin over his knuckles briefly before pulling away.

"Your coffee," she said, gesturing to the hot liquid in front of him.

He nodded his head in thanks, grateful that she did not ask him if he was okay. Unlike him, the brunette was much better at… respecting his privacy.

And they fell into silence then, Yelina occasionally sipping her coffee and Horatio trying to pull himself together.

The redhead set the report in his hands next to him, back onto the stack of other papers. He needed to not think about that right now, needed to get it together because Horatio would not – _would not – _dwell on any of it with company. Yelina might have been more understanding than most, but that didn't mean he wanted to… open this can of worms.

He imagined himself then pushing the unwanted thoughts into the back of his mind. Forcing them from the forefront of his brain, locking the images in a fictitious vault for him to open later.

Finally, Horatio asked, the words pinched and awkward, "So the boy was placed in foster care…"

She eyed him carefully but at least played along. "Uh, yeah." And then as an afterthought, "he didn't speak for over a year afterwards."

Silence fell between the two once more. And Horatio couldn't help but think of the teenager from earlier in the day. So much had changed it seemed, because the redhead could hardly imagine the very same kid ever being mute.

"What changed?" he finally asked.

Yelina set her red mug down on the coffee table and turned towards him. "I don't really know. When Kyle was placed in his second foster home, he seemed to thrive there – according to the reports at least." She tucked a stray curl behind one of her ears. "But then the foster family moved without him. And…" The brunette shrugged. "He's bounced from homes since then."

Taking a sip of his black coffee, Horatio let her words sink in. So his son had been abandoned… and tossed from home to home without any thought. His child had become one of those children who became almost invisible, lost in the system that they had so unfairly been placed in. And the redhead knew, even without talking to the boy, that this would make things all the more difficult.

How could he hope to convince Kyle that he was his father when the teen's background was this? How would Horatio ever be able to undo all those years of pain and abandonment?

Maybe someone else could, he admitted. But certainly not him.

The redhead could barely manage the family he had, and there had always been at least some semblance of normalcy there.

Not to mention they had some reason to trust him, believe in him, where as Kyle… had only confrontation with the lieutenant.

"All right," Horatio said, half-heartedly. This was a disaster, through and through, he told himself. Because even with all this other information Yelina could tell him… already the father could see that the deck was stacked against him.

There was no brilliant revelation, no chink in Kyle's armor that Horatio could use to his advantage. There seemed to only be betrayal and distrust an impermanence, and what could he could do with that?

He sipped his coffee once more, the answer eluding him.

What could he do with that?

_End (12/??)_


	13. Chapter 12: The Four

Author's Notes: Thank you to redhotlover for the wonderful review. I really appreciate the encouragement. Also, none of this would be possible without my beta. Thank you for making my fic as good as it can be and for leaving me wonderful reviews and comments.

As always, reviews are much appreciated, so please leave one if you read.

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI: Miami. I just like to write alternatives to some pretty stinky storylines. Don't sue me for that, please. **  
**

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Twelve: The Four**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_We need others. We need others to love and we need to be loved by them. There is no doubt that without it, we too, like the infant left alone, would cease to grow, cease to develop, choose madness and even death." – Leo F. Buscaglia_

The Hummer door slammed shut behind him, and Horatio didn't bother to start the car right away. Because right now, he wasn't sure he'd be able to drive without taking his frustration out on someone. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, clenching them so hard that he was convinced that the knuckles had turned white.

The sun had almost set entirely, making autumn seem as though it were looming around the corner. Of course he had spent so much time in the café, and then at his sister-in-law's, that it was also possible that the summer still lingered on. Certainly the stuffy air of the car gave the redhead that impression. But no thought of the weather could help Horatio avoid the truth of the matter.

It had all been a waste of time.

Yelina had given him the excruciating details of the boy's life up to the present. The various foster homes, how the current foster mother and father hadn't returned her calls at all, seemingly unconcerned for their ward. Given their daughter's current trouble, Horatio could see that they'd clearly placed her needs above Kyle's. His sister-in-law had recounted the blond's schoolwork and how he'd been held back two years do to truancy and the year he had spent as a mute.

She'd told him everything he could know from a stack of papers.

But there were no answers.

There was no clear way to say, "I'm your father, Kyle." No way to handle that mess, and no way of knowing how the boy would react. Of course, the redhead thought that he'd be stupid to think the teenager would respond well to the truth.

But still… Horatio felt no more equipped to deal with the situation. If anything, he felt worse. Because by now, Kyle had spent nearly seven hours in police custody. And the lieutenant knew that _anyone _in that position would be getting anxious to leave. Surely the boy would be more agitated, more upset that he was still there.

And while his child was left to linger in a police station, what had Horatio been doing? Eating dinner with his sister-in-law? Listening to his nephew talk about a video game?

As he started the car, Horatio couldn't help but think that even though things had changed, some things hadn't. When his son had been born, the redhead had done nothing, hadn't known at all. He'd gone ahead and lived his life as he always had, and now, even knowing Kyle existed hadn't altered this. Here he was going about his business as though nothing had happened.

Driving back, the redhead tried to think of a way to tell the boy the truth. There had to be an answer. It just… remained elusive.

And he wondered if it always would.

ch12ch12ch12

Yelina watched him from her bedroom window.

In all honesty, it was a little creepy – sitting in the dark watching her brother-in-law. But then again, it wasn't any more suspicious than the way the redhead sat in his car in her driveway. He'd abruptly left ten minutes ago, she thought, and yet… there he was.

Part of her thought that she should go outside and talk to him. Part of her knew better than to do that. Because Horatio was, if nothing, a secretive person. And whatever was bothering him was something he didn't want her to know. Pushing him to tell her the truth would solve nothing, the brunette intuitively understood.

Yet that didn't stop her from wanting the redhead to let her in. She knew that she wasn't perfect, that maybe she wouldn't be able to help, but… it couldn't make things any worse. And perhaps just being able to _share_ the truth with someone would make him feel better.

But until he realized that on his own, there was nothing Yelina could do. As he drove away, she frowned, could feel her features fill with sadness.

It was ridiculous, she knew, to think that he would have a sudden epiphany or that he would break this lifelong habit. Still… knowing that never stopped her from wishing it would happen.

"Mom." Her son's irritated voice filled the silent room, and she turned to face him. "Spying on the neighbors again, freak?" he asked her in the snidest of tones.

She stood up, folding her arms across her chest. "No," the mother said in the same sarcastic voice. "I was –"

But Yelina cut herself off, because she couldn't exactly tell him the truth. And so her response was, "Do you need something?"

"Did Uncle Horatio leave?" When she nodded her head, she could detect the disappointment in her son's dark eyes. "Oh…. Okay. Whatever."

The mother made a mental note to discuss this with her brother-in-law at some point. That he could go for months without talking to her was one thing. But he had slowly begun to do the same with Ray Junior. And she couldn't understand why this was, but ever since Horatio had shoved them onto a plane bound for Brazil, he had kept his distance. He'd always been reluctant to get close – there was _no_ denying that, but now Yelina suspected that it might almost be pathological.

Just something else to deal with, the brunette supposed.

Looking at her son's retreating form, the mother only needed a moment before deciding to follow him.

She stopped in the doorway and watched Ray Junior carefully. The teenager was disappointed, to say the least. His shoulders were slightly hunched; the usual arrogance he displayed proudly had all but disappeared. And Yelina knew she should say something to her son, should comfort him in some way, but…

Truth be told, the brunette wasn't sure she knew how to do that. She could lie and say that Horatio would come around. But the sister-in-law didn't really believe that anymore, and Ray didn't seem to be any more convinced.

At the same time, though, letting him sulk now would only make matters worse. The teenager was absolutely terrible at keeping his emotions hidden, and the longer he was left to stew, the more upset he would become.

But her son did not go into his room and slam the door, as Yelina expected. Instead Ray Junior, hand on the brass doorknob, turned to her and asked, "Any cakes left?"

"Only one," she told him.

"It's mine," he said, his confidence clearly returning as he hurried to the kitchen.

Unfortunately for her_ dear_ child, Yelina had intended on eating the very same cake after Horatio had left. And surely, if anyone deserved the last of the tiny delicacy it was _her. _Because even if her son was upset with his uncle, it was nothing compared to the frustration she had experienced that day.Quickly, she followed Ray.

"Don't you dare eat it," she called after him warningly.

Speeding up her pace, the brunette managed to situate her body between her son and the cake.

"Oh, come on!" he said exasperated. "You had like ten already!"

She rolled her eyes. "I did not have _ten. _Maybe… three."

"At least four."

"Fine. Four." The chocolate treats were small and rich but not filling. And therefore it was _completely_ reasonable to have four, soon to be five of them, she told herself.

"Ha," he said triumphantly. "I only had one so –"

Her hands made their way to her hips. "Do you really think I didn't see you running back and forth when I was talking to Horatio?"

"I…" Ray closed his mouth; clearly he hadn't expected her to notice. "I was getting a drink," he said finally.

"Oh really?"

"Yes."

Her eyes narrowed on the teenager in front of her. She picked up the plate holding the one cake and gestured with it towards Ray Junior. "So I guess the rest of these just disappeared?"

Ray shifted on his feet, and Yelina couldn't help but smirk. It wasn't that her son was a terrible liar; he could be incredibly deceitful. But he was absolutely awful at coming up with a good lie on the spot.

Clearly though the boy wasn't going to give up easily. "Horatio –"

"Doesn't like them," the brunette finished. "And, as I recall, there were _ten_ cakes in the bag," she said, remembering how she had delicately plated each little dessert. "I had four, and there's only one left. Which means, little boy, you ate five."

Realization dawned in his dark eyes, and Yelina smiled victoriously as Ray frowned.

"Sorry, Raymond," she said, not sounding apologetic in the least. "But this one is mine." Keeping the plate close to her chest, the brunette carefully avoided her son as she moved passed him to the kitchen counter.

"But…" She watched as he closed his mouth. Finally, Ray Junior tried to reason, "But that's not fair."

"No?"

"No." He shifted on his feet some more before continuing, "No, it's not fair _at all._"

"And how is that?"

It was obvious that the teenager was thinking as silence filled the kitchen (save for the sound of Yelina pulling out a fork). Eventually, he said, "Because. I'm a growing boy. I need more food than you!"

She looked around the kitchen until she spotted the red apples sitting in the fruit basket a few feet from her. Grabbing one, Yelina tossed it at Ray. "Then eat one of these instead."

He didn't like that answer. "If anyone should have the apple, it's you." When she raised an apple in confusion, Ray Junior replied, "Well, it's true. I'm young. I can eat as many cakes as I want. But _you_… well, you're getting a little up in your years. And unless you want to end up looking like Grandma…"

Though she had no mirror, the brunette could feel her hazel eyes narrow on her son in anger. "That's great, Raymond," she said sarcastically. "Call me old _and _compare me to my mother." Setting the plate in her hand on the counter with a loud clatter, Yelina said snidely, "_Incredibly_ persuasive."

Turning away from him, she grabbed the fork she'd pulled out only moments earlier and stabbed it into the dark brown fluffy cake. But just as the mother was about to claim her prize and eat the treat, Ray whined, "But it's not fair!"

This was ridiculous, she told herself. And once more she spun around to face her son. "You had five. I had four. Who should have the last cake seems pretty obvious to me." Then as an afterthought, she added, her tone acerbic, "Or have you also failed a math test recently?"

The sound that escaped him was some combination of a groan and a snarl. And Yelina knew, perhaps before the words had left her mouth, that she had pushed him too far. But the brunette didn't feel repentant, because now, at least, he wouldn't brood over Horatio.

"Fuck you," Ray snapped.

The outburst didn't surprise her, didn't even make her flinch. He was her child after all, and his personality was a volatile conglomeration of his parents'. And sadly Yelina had become used to yelling and cursing years ago.

His hands clenched into fists, but she wasn't worried he would hit her. "It's _one_ test, Mom." He stormed out of the room for a moment before coming back in, stalking towards her. "Is this, like, your thing? Do you not know how to function without fucking nagging the living crap out of someone?"

His eyes were almost as dark as hers. And though Yelina wanted to say something just as mean, just as cutting, she did not. Instead, the mother sighed sadly.

"Raymond," she started, saying his name softly. "I love you." She took a step closer to him, purposely ignoring the way he rolled his eyes at her.

"Please, do _not_ start with how you're afraid I'm wasting my brains or however the hell you want to put it."

"I wasn't going to," she said in a haughty voice.

"Sure."

"I wasn't. You already know how I feel, because I cannot even count the number of times I've told you exactly what I think." Her fingers pushed a lock of his dark hair out of his face. "You're almost an adult now; you can make your own decisions. And you've never been one to listen to me when I –" She stopped herself and changed directions. "I can accept that you are too stubborn to take my advice. But if you honestly believe that I will stop giving it to you, then you really are as stupid as your test results suggest."

Walking the short distance back to the white marble counter top, Yelina looked down at the chocolate cake. Had they really started a fight over something so small and pointless?

It was completely ridiculous and at this point, not even worth it. But unfortunately, fights like these seemed to be part and parcel for how the mother and son interacted with one another. And she understood that this was… just how things were, but did they really have to be this dysfunctional?

Thinking things over for a moment, Yelina caved in and reached up into one of the glass-fronted cupboards. She pulled out a plate and then a knife before cutting the cake into two.

The molten inside (the brunette's favorite part) spilled easily out onto the plate. But that couldn't be helped. Transferring the larger half to the second dish, she turned to her son once more.

"Here," she told him.

There was no thank you from him. No doubt he was still chewing on her words, perhaps angrily so. And she quickly ate her part of the chocolaty treat before placing her dish in the sink and leaving the room.

Going back into her bedroom, Yelina couldn't help but think of how they looked from the outside. She doubted that they seemed like the perfect family. But neither did she believe that anyone could guess how messed up they were. And running her fingers through her curls, the brunette thought that she never wanted another one of those cakes again.

The inexplicable fight with Ray Junior had left a bitter aftertaste. Not even a gooey inside was worth repeating that again.

ch12ch12ch12

She was always so sure that he was going to fail, Ray knew. He sat in front of his computer screen, the game he'd been working so hard on paused. The cake they'd fought over remained untouched on the desk next to him. He didn't even want it anymore; truth be told, he'd been a little too full in the first place.

But the brunet hadn't really wanted it to eat, had he? It would have been a cool bonus, for sure, but mainly… Ray had just wanted to keep it from _her. _

She was always convinced that he would fail in everything, he repeated to himself. Each and every time waiting in the wings with Uncle Horatio to see him fall flat on his face. And maybe he hadn't been the perfect little boy. And maybe he _had _made some really bad decisions. Being a drug mule, the whole shooting the homeless guy, blah, blah, blah.

Whatever.

The point wasn't what he had done, he told himself. But how his own_ mother_ seemed to anticipate failure – as though Ray wasn't capable of anything else. Which might not be so bad, he thought, if she'd just _admit _it.

And God only knew his mother could be a fucking _bitch_ so Ray Junior didn't really understand _why_ she insisted on giving him those sad eyes and shit.

Because it works, you ass, he thought.

His middle and fore finger slapped on the space bar of his computer, unpausing the game. His creation with Todd had hit a glitch: the game play got jerky around the fifth level in the park. And it became almost impossible to accurately shoot the baddies.

Ray tried working with it for a few minutes, before smacking the computer's keyboard. Todd was good with the actual concept of the game, but the graphics were the brunet's job. And if he didn't fix this, there'd be no way they could win this contest.

And he'd be damned if he was going to give his mother another reason to believe that he was nothing but a failure.

Jamming the cake viciously into his mouth, Ray Junior took a deep breath and grabbed the CD from his computer. His thick fingers fumbled to put it in the plastic case before tossing it into his bag.

He snatched his cell phone off of his dresser and dialed Todd's number. When the teen answered, Ray told him, "Yeah, man, look I'm coming over. We have some major issues."

Flipping the phone shut, the brunet slowly unlocked his window and climbed out. It'd probably take all night – at least – to fix the glitch in the game. And sure, the teenager had a test the next day… But this was way more important.

His sneakers scuffing on the sidewalk, Ray thought to himself, sorry, Uncle Horatio. This was just way more important.

ch12ch12ch12

This day was never ever going to end.

It sort of felt like that hideously annoying song his mother had taught him once. _This is the song that never ends. Yes it goes on and on, my friends…_

And now it was in his head. That was just great, Kyle thought.

The cop – Rick Stetler – had been gone for a while now, and the blond was half convinced that the man had reneged on his part of the deal. He wouldn't be the first police officer to do that, but…

Kyle had been so sure that this would work. Not because he trusted the dark-haired man – cause he gave off a really weird vibe. But the teenager had thought that part of all of that was Stetler's intensity. He'd looked like he really wanted to fuck over the redheaded idiot from earlier.

The blond leaned back in the uncomfortable chair. This day was never going to end, and at this point, Kyle didn't even really care about a deal. Yeah, he wanted one, but if it wasn't going to happen, then he'd rather just be arrested then and there and be done with it.

Shifting some more, he laid his throbbing head down on the metal table. The smooth cool surface did little to ease his headache, but it was better than nothing. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the harsh fluorescent lighting.

And he stayed this way for what seemed like hours, but was probably only minutes, until the crick in his neck made itself known, and Kyle shifted once more.

Opening his eyes again, he could see Rick Stetler standing outside of the interrogation room.

Game time.

But the dark-haired man didn't have a chance to enter the room as a woman interrupted him. Kyle hadn't seen her before, but he could tell that she was pissed

He couldn't read lips; however, the angry gestures she gave Stetler seemed to say everything. The blond decided to pass the time making up possible conversation for them. Maybe they were dating? Or maybe she was against Kyle's potential deal? He didn't know, but it was something to do. Other than think about how he'd gotten into this damn mess.

Finally, though, the squabble ended, and the male cop, grumbling the words, "fucking cunt," entered the room.

The blond said nothing. He didn't think it wise to seem too eager for a deal.

Slapping the printed document onto the metal table, Stetler said, "There. Now sign it."

Kyle looked down at it. A pen was slammed down, making a soft clang, but he made no motion to sign.

"Well?" Stetler asked.

Their dark eyes met, and the blond said, "I want to read it first." The older man was obviously displeased by the development but said nothing.

Kyle began to read, slowly to make sure that there was no fine print that said, "Hey, we're going to screw you over right now."

"How about I summarize it for you, kid," Stetler told him, the irritation in his voice not even remotely hidden. "Probation. Community service. No jail time. And all you have to do is give me Horatio Caine." Sitting down in the chair across from him, the man said, "So if you think you can do that, stop dicking around and_ sign_ the thing."

The blond shrugged inwardly. Looking at Stetler, Kyle could see that determination flitting through the man's eyes once more. He seemed so eager to screw this cop over that the teenager doubted he had time to want to mess around with anyone else.

And so Kyle signed the sheet quickly.

Plucking the tape recorder from his pocket once more, Rick rerecorded what he had done earlier. They went over both of their names, current address, today's date and time, and the case number. And then finally, once more, they got down to business.

"So, Kyle, tell me how you hurt your face?" The man's voice was gentle but in a way that sounded forced – like what someone might_ think_ "gentle" was. In the end though, the blond thought it didn't really matter.

Because with a smile that lacked all warmth, the teenager was all but obliged to tell him what had happened.

End (13/??)


	14. Chapter 13: The hard Way

Author's Note: Given that this fic is turning into a monster size wise, I'm going to try to start posting twice a week. Of course that will depend on how fast my wonderful, brilliant beta, Olly aka Squeeka Cuomo, can finish reading what I send her and adding her awesome comments. So we'll see. As much as I would love to update more regularly, I couldn't do it without Olly, who has helped me immensely.

Also, thank you to RedHotLover. Your reviews make my day and keep me going. It means so much to me.

_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the show so don't sue me, please._

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Thirteen: The hard Way**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_From a certain point of view our real enemy, the true troublemaker, is inside." – Tenzin Gyatso_

On the drive back, Horatio decided that there was just no good way to say it. He'd known it before, had understood that Kyle would be angry. But at the time, the redhead had thought that maybe there could be a better way of telling the boy the truth.

It had been all in vain to think that, the new father had to accept that now.

He only wished he'd realized it sooner. It would have saved the teenager a few hours in jail. And with that in mind, Horatio made the decision to get it over with as quickly as possible. Kyle would probably hate him for it, but… sitting around and thinking of his options, trying to handle this as rationally as possible, was useless. At least if the boy knew the truth, they could move forward. The redhead wouldn't spend his time vacillating and worrying, and maybe they could start… working towards a relationship.

But that was all easier said than done.

His mind seemed to be working against him, scattered and constantly second guessing any plan of attack. Maybe he should wait until all of this was over. Get the boy out of jail first before telling the truth.

No, he told himself. Kyle had no reason to trust him right now, making it pretty… inevitable that he would have to tell the teenager about their connection before the case was resolved.

Once more, he decided getting it over with now was for the best.

Pulling into his parking spot, Horatio remembered that he wanted to grab the DNA test that had put this in motion. He'd need some proof that this wasn't a lie.

His hands jiggled the keys out of the ignition in an uncharacteristically clumsy way. And he stalked to the entrance of the building, his legs more sure than the rest of his body.

The door closing behind him, the redhead thought he saw people watching him. It was an accepted fact between everyone that the Miami-Dade police department (and everyone else in law enforcement) liked to gossip. And Horatio realized then that he had better get used to this, being the center of everyone's focus. Because once his illegitimate son was revealed, there'd be no escaping the attention.

With that thought in mind, the redhead couldn't help but entertain the idea that maybe they already knew. He was rarely if ever fodder for gossip. There had been a few years, when Yelina was still a cop, that people would talk. And when she'd left, there had been some horrible rumors that Horatio had had something to do with it. Which he had, but they made it sound like… he'd murdered her or stuffed her in a closet somewhere.

And then there'd been his brief marriage to Marisol. But even that had only been talked about when nothing better had happened.

Now though… they were all watching him, and Horatio hated it. If they really did know the truth, this would be all that mattered. They wouldn't think about the times he'd helped them or been discreet with_ their_ problems. No, because now the lieutenant would be the guy who met his son in a line up.

He continued to walk, pretending not to notice their stares. But nonetheless, one of his hands found its way to his pocket, palming the sunglasses within. He didn't put them on, the cool metal comforting enough.

Entering the dark office, Horatio grabbed the file and left. Once more, he made his way through the hallways with people watching him.

But when he reached the interrogation room, the redhead finally understood what was going on. Because in that same small area was the IAB agent everyone in the building dreaded. And though Horatio couldn't hear what the two were talking about, he knew what was going on just by the way Rick seemed to cockily sit at the table across from the teenager.

Part of him filled with relief. His colleagues weren't looking at him, because of the DNA test. They didn't know Kyle was his son.

They'd seen Stetler, who was busy talking to the teenager. Probably about the altercation earlier, the redhead could only assume. As though Horatio really needed this to be any harder, but he couldn't exactly interrupt the conversation. It would make his actions look… even _more_ suspicious. And though this shouldn't be true, the fact was the lieutenant didn't have control over any investigation Rick wanted to conduct.

So he could only stand outside and wait, the DNA test clutched in his hands. This was definitely not what Horatio wanted. If Stetler was talking to Kyle about what happened earlier, then it would make the truth all the more difficult to hear. Because what kid would want to meet dear old dad after _that. _

If only he'd told the boy earlier.

Going to Yelina's was a mistake. Horatio was convinced of this now, more so than he'd ever been. And though it pained him to think this, the redhead couldn't help but tell himself that… he wouldn't be able to do that anymore. Wouldn't be able to indulge his sometimes oppressive need to keep her satisfied; he would not be allowed to spend all his time trying to make things right. Not that would really be a problem.

Once his sister-in-law knew the truth, she would never want to hear anything he had to say ever again. She'd be done with him, and for the first time… Horatio realized that there was something relieving about it all. He'd never been able to extricate himself from this mess of a family.

Against his better judgment, the redhead had _always_ wanted her. And even when he'd shoved her onto that plane, it hadn't mattered. She'd still managed to find her way back to him. He tried to stay away, but without Kyle, Horatio could see himself getting ensnared in it all over again.

But his son _had_ come along. And for better or worse, that would surely drive Yelina away. She'd hate him, no doubt about that. But at least, _finally_, they'd be able to move past this attraction for one another.

He sighed, pacing, and occasionally looking into the interrogation room. Kyle was still talking, and though it was hard to see from here… Horatio thought he saw Rick smile every now and then. The redhead hoped that they would be done soon.

As it turned out, though, the IAB agent had only just gotten started. Because Horatio spent the next hour or so waiting, his impatience staved off by a few of his co-workers.

Someone had had a question on procedure and had, perhaps ironically, come to him. Both Ryan and Calleigh had tried to convince him to stay away from the kid.

Horatio refused. And he could tell in their eyes that they didn't really understand. He was being investigated, and clearly he should stay away if he didn't want to make things worse. But this was… his son, which they didn't know.

At least not yet anyway.

"You should go home," Calleigh had tried to say tactfully. But he had refused.

"Why is this case so important?" Ryan had asked. There had been no answer Horatio could give without revealing too much. As silly as it might have been, the redhead was determined to tell Kyle first.

Maybe it wouldn't make any difference in the world, but it seemed wrong to the lieutenant to discuss it with anyone else. Valera knew the truth, but that couldn't be helped; she was the one who had discovered the connection to begin with.

But that didn't mean Horatio was ready to advertise it to everyone. This was their reality, no one else's, and talking about it with other people would do nothing to ease his nerves.

Finally Stetler opened the door. Things had gone well, the redhead could easily tell. The IAB agent looked like all his prayers had been answered. His dark eyes were filled with an uncharacteristic mirth – like a hyena discovering an injured herd of zebra. And though he tried to hide it, Horatio could see the smile playing on his lips.

Rick was always eager to accuse anyone of misconduct. But the lieutenant had never seen him look so… happy.

"Horatio," the dark-haired man said. His tone was careful, sounded like he was forcing himself to be as calm as possible.

"Rick." The CSI didn't bother to try and hide his disgust for the other man. In addition to Marisol and Yelina, this rivalry was something often talked about among cops. And Horatio didn't see the point in pretending that he liked Stetler. On the best days it was a near impossible task, and today… well, the redhead just didn't have the heart for it now.

Not when the other man was interfering in ways he shouldn't.

"You know," Stetler started to say. "I wouldn't go in there if I was you."

"Oh really? And why is that?" Both men took a step towards one another.

"You know why. You've been accused of misconduct." He drawled out the last word for emphasis. "You should look at that kid's face. Not even the great Horatio Caine is going to be able to talk himself out of that one." Rick pretended to think about the matter for a minute before adding, "But if I was you, I'd at least save a little face and resign now."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Horatio said, a mirthless smile forming on his face.

The dark-haired man shrugged. "Do what you want, Horatio… I'll get you no matter what. If you want to make this hard –"

"I do, _Rick."_

"Then I guess we'll be making this hard." And turning to the police officer guarding the door, the IAB agent said, "Don't let the lieutenant in the room. He's being _investigated._"

Well that made things more complicated, Horatio thought as Stetler strutted away. He couldn't exactly tell Kyle the truth if he wasn't allowed in the same room. And looking at the guard, the redhead could see that he was one of the newer officers. Perhaps someone who knew the lieutenant well would let him in, but there was little chance of that happening here.

Still, he had to try.

The blond man didn't seem to be swayed, and for a moment, he thought that he would never get the chance to tell Kyle the truth. But then, changing tactics, Horatio reasoned with him that "IAB can conduct their own investigation, but they cannot interfere with mine – at least until I've been relieved of duty or found guilty."

Luckily this seemed to do the trick; the rookie officer stood aside, letting him in.

And there _he_ was… no longer an unobtainable dream wished and whispered late at night when Horatio was alone. No longer merely a rude teenager, a nameless hooligan who'd the lieutenant would forget about in a few years.

There was his son.

It was hard for the CSI to understand the mix of emotions flowing through him. Part of him still couldn't comprehend the idea. Of all the weird things Horatio had seen in this line of work, this was easily the most bizarre.

And his whole foundation shaken, the lieutenant had begun to see_everything_, it felt like, in a completely different light.

Kyle Harmon was exactly the same teenager he was earlier, part of Horatio understood. The kid he'd thought was nothing but trouble was still the same blond boy slumped over in the chair in front of him. But the animosity that the redhead had hardly been able to control earlier had all but evaporated.

And something else entirely had replaced it; a sense of… not pride, maybe not even knowledge – but some part of him knew that Kyle had never been that horrible kid. Which made Horatio wonder how many other times he had screwed up like this.

No, the redhead realized. It wasn't confidence in the boy that flowed through his veins, just disgust at himself. The anger and hatred he'd felt for the blond earlier in the day had changed its focus. To Horatio himself.

How many children had he presumed to know? There had been times before where the CSI had decided that certain people were beyond redemption. And it scared him to think that maybe he'd never really understood them either.

Or maybe he was just destined to never understand _this _kid. Which was an even more frightening possibility, and so he refused to believe it. Besides, the redhead told himself, these things were very rarely isolated events. If he could make assumptions about Kyle, then why would he be incapable of doing that in other situations?

Deciding that he must have messed up in the past, he refused to give any more thought to the idea that this might only be a one-time instance. The lieutenant no longer believed that; just as everyone else would tie his identity up in this single day, for better or worse, Horatio felt the same way. If for reasons that went beyond discovering he had a son.

And yet… despite the feeling of self-loathing that seemed to fill every inch of his body, the redhead didn't want all of it to go away anymore. True, he'd given thought to pretending Kyle wasn't his son. But now the father knew telling him was the right thing. Confronting this and accepting it as reality was what he had to do. And as much as he hadn't expected this, as horrible as the whole situation was, Horatio didn't want to run from this any longer.

At that moment though, Kyle seemed to realize he wasn't alone. And looking up to see Horatio, the boy stood up quickly, defensively.

"Sit down," the redhead said softly. But the teenager made no motion to do so.

"I don't think so," Kyle said.

"Kyle –"

"No." He stood up to his full height. "No, I'm going to stand up, thank you."

Horatio shrugged. "All right." He thought the blond would want to sit down for this, but the redhead knew better than to push it. "Then stand."

"Why are you here?" the boy asked suspiciously. His dark eyes narrowed on Horatio. Everything about his posture was defensive, like a puffed up cat. "Come to kick my ass for reporting you?"

"No," the redhead said quietly, taking a seat even the teenager wouldn't. "I didn't come here to do that, no." He gently slid the file containing the DNA results across the table.

"What's that?"

"DNA test results."

The blond nodded and took a seat. "So we're finally getting to the part where you arrest me then?"

Horatio sighed. This situation was already bad enough, but the added pressure of being in the police station made things so much worse.

He shifted nervously in his chair. "Not exactly."

"Then you didn't get a match."

"Kyle," the redhead started. But the words wouldn't come, refused to pass the barrier of his mouth and tongue.

"What's going on?" The teenager grabbed the manila folder sitting in front of him and flipped it open. He looked down at the sheet of paper in the file, but realization did not light up his features. "What is this?" he asked.

The boy's brown eyes met Horatio's blue ones. And in the back of his mind, the lieutenant knew that at this moment, everything would change for the both of them. They would never be the same after this, and this tiny pause in between stages would either be the beginning of something great.

Or become the moment their lives were ruined.

Horatio took a deep breath, unsure which path they would be taking.

"Well?" Kyle asked, prodding the redhead.

"It's… a paternity test," the man explained, finding no comfort in the science. "We use this to compare DNA sequences of two people we suspect of being related."

"I know what a paternity test is." The teenager sounded petulant, the slight whine in his voice belying his true age.

Horatio nodded but continued anyway. "The one set is yours…. The other is your father's."

The boy frowned, still not looking at the page. "My father?"

"Yes." And the silence seemed to linger on, filling the space between them. Perhaps Kyle understood what was going to happen next, knew what the truth would be, Horatio thought. Because the blond said nothing, did nothing – seemed absolutely content to stay in this moment of unease.

And the redhead couldn't fault him for that, because right now, there was still a chance to walk away. Act like nothing had happened. But that wasn't going to happen, could not happen, because Horatio had already decided that the boy should know the truth.

Opening his mouth once more, he forced the words out. Slowly, unsure, he said, "I'm… your father, Kyle."

_End (14/??)_


	15. Chapter 14: Redoing the Test

Author's Notes: Thank you especially to daxy, dimple-lala, and tigerkat51 for their reviews; it means a lot. And another thank you to my beta, Olly. Without your help, I would be lost.

_Disclaimer: CSI: Miami belongs to someone else. Don't sue me. _

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Fourteen: Redoing the Test**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_How often it is that the angry man rages denial of what his inner self is telling him."_ – _Frank Herbert_

"I'm your father, Kyle."

The words hung in the air, and the teenager knew he should say something – _knew _that this shouldn't affect him. Because if he showed this weakness, then the cop would know just how to manipulate him, would capitalize on it and use it to his advantage.

But the blond couldn't stop his features from contorting in… whatever it was they were doing. He had learned to control his body somewhat, but this was something he could have never planned for.

So he looked away from the redhead sitting in front of him.

Quickly, Kyle tried to think this through. The man could be telling the truth; his mother had never told him who his father was. And the cop could have easily figured that out, read it in a file somewhere. But what would be the point in lying? To get a confession? That seemed ridiculous, even by the blond's own warped standards of how a police officer typically behaved.

The man before him could be psychotic, but that seemed even less likely than a lie. Because the cop might be an asshole, but he didn't seem… that crazy. A few loose screws, sure, but Kyle was very much mistaken if this guy didn't actually hate him. So assuming the redhead was capable of rational thought, it didn't make sense to lie.

Which meant…

This was his father.

He shook his head. Kyle liked the idea of the man being psychotic more than any of the other options, and so he chose to believe that instead.

"You're my father?" the boy asked, his voice laced with sarcasm and disbelief.

The man nodded. "I am."

Kyle shook his head again. "Don't believe you."

The pair of blue eyes watching him widened in shock and maybe a little hurt as well. "It's the truth," he said, the words sounding choked. "The test –"

The blond slapped the file shut and shoved it back towards the redhead. "Uh huh. Yes, the _test. _You could easily have made this shit up."

"Why would I do that, Kyle?" The man definitely sounded hurt then, but the boy didn't care.

"I don't know," he said angrily. "Why would you punch your own kid?" Kyle snarled.

It sounded foreign to his own ears – the way he sounded. As much as a "trouble maker" as Kyle probably was, he didn't consider himself to be a particularly… confrontational person. But if someone was picking a fight with him, like this guy obviously was, the blond wasn't going to back down.

The man's blue eyes shined brightly, but Kyle didn't think he was going to cry – thank God. "I… am sorry for that," he said quietly, but firmly.

"Whatever, man. What do you want from me, huh? A confession? Because that's not going to happen. And playing with my mind like that isn't going to –"

The cop shook his head in disbelief. "A confession?" he whispered. And then more loudly, he said, "I don't want a confession from you – or anything else. But I am telling you the truth."

"Then you're gonna have to do better than some lame-ass print out."

The man took the folder back, picked it up off of the table. And they sat there in heated silence. Until finally the redhead said, "I'll do the test again."

"That's not –"

"I mean, we'll do the test again… and you can watch."

It seemed like a reasonable offer, Kyle thought. But then an idea popped into his mind. "And how do I know that isn't rigged?"

"It's illegal to –"

"Uh huh," the teenager said incredulously. "That doesn't mean anything to me. Just because it's illegal doesn't mean you won't –"

The man sighed. "I _won't_." They fell into silence once more. "Besides," he added. "Even if I wanted a confession, why would I do _this_, Kyle? There are much easier ways to make someone like you talk."

"Yeah, but that didn't work now, did it?"

"So you think, after everything that's happened, I would lie about you being my son? Tell me, how does that get me what _I_ supposedly want?" The redhead's eyes looked at him directly, his voice seemingly imploringly the teen to see reason.

Kyle thought about it. He wasn't ready to accept that this guy could actually be his father. But the cop did have a point there. There had to be better ways of getting someone to talk. And if he was going to play the father card, wouldn't it be better to have some random stranger do it instead of doing it himself?

"Fine," the teenager conceded. If this was part of some messed up plan, then… Kyle should at least see where this would end. "Let's do it."

They both stood up, their chairs making scratching noises as they were pushed away from the table.

As they walked through the rest of the building and down to the lab, the blond had to concede that it was sort of interesting to see what went on. Not that he would ever want to do this for a living. Because (assuming he could make it to adulthood without being tossed into prison) Kyle would rather eat dog poop than be a cop.

It was a profession he didn't like and hadn't been able to respect since he was six. He had thought then, and still thought now, that if police officers were doing any good in this world, then certain things would never happen. And what was the point if they couldn't even do their jobs effectively?

But walking through the building now, Kyle thought that it didn't look that bad. It seemed – or at least he thought it was – like a normal office setting. No one seemed to be bogged down with the crime they must see from day to day. A few of them smiled at the redhead, as they got onto the elevator.

And the blond couldn't help but think that this just made everything worse. Here they were – the people who were supposed to protect you and solve crimes and stuff – acting like their jobs were just like any other job.

But Kyle said nothing, refused to let it show on his face. And wasn't going to let any emotion, any weakness filter through. Not when this asshole was trying to say that they were related in any case. Because even if they were actually father and son – which the blond didn't believe – there were other police officers waiting to interrogate him.

The teen knew he had a deal, but… things could change.

Finally in the DNA lab, it was a relatively – no, bad word... _seemingly_ quick process. The redhead wanted to take the swabs himself, but Kyle stopped him. "You could tamper with the results."

Sad blue eyes looked at him once more, seemingly imploring the teenager to think better of the man before him. But the blond was absolutely set against doing that, would not do it. Because you couldn't treat someone the way the cop had and expect to get any respect in return. And so another lab tech, a brunette, was called over to take the samples.

As the woman methodically went about testing the DNA in a way that Kyle neither understood or cared to, the teenager tried to stave off the dread pooling in his stomach. If these results were the same as the other ones… if this guy really was his father, then what exactly would that mean?

But the question went unanswered as another woman interrupted them. Kyle had seen her earlier; she'd been fighting with Stetler, and her mood hadn't improved, the teen thought. Because all she did was stalk towards them and say, "We need to talk, Horatio."

_End (15/??)_


	16. Chapter 15: Officially Charged

Author's Notes: So far, I think I've done a pretty good job posting twice a week. None of that, though, would be without the hard work of my beta, Olly. Thank you very, very much, Goosey, for keeping up with me on this and for continually helping me along. Also thanks to daxy and angelgrl31392 for their reviews. Most days, I need all the encouragement I can get when it comes to writing this monster-sized fic. Thank you so much for that.

_Disclaimer: I do not own CSI: Miami or anything else, really. Suing me would be a waste of your time like whoa. So don't do it. _

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Fifteen: Officially Charged**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly." – Martin Luther King, Jr._

Everyone else in the lab might be unaware, but Horatio was sure that Rebecca Nevins wasn't one of those people. Her eyes were narrowed on him, darting off occasionally to glare at the teenager. They'd dated only briefly, but the redhead didn't doubt that she was furious. That she knew the truth.

And it was bad timing on her part, but… he knew better than to let her stew. She was not a vengeful person; however, the dark-haired woman hated feeling cheated or being blind-sighted. In this case, Horatio didn't doubt that she would feel both.

He nodded his head. "All right," the redhead told her before turning to Kyle. "Stay where you are." Horatio looked around the room, relieved to see other lab techs still in the immediate vicinity. Even if the boy tried to leave, he'd never get far.

Horatio followed Rebecca dolefully to the AV lab where he had hid from her earlier in the day. But this time the small room wasn't empty, and the redhead was sure to stir up the rumor mongering as he kicked Cooper and Eric out with a nod of the head.

His rough hand had barely closed the door behind them when Rebecca spit out, "Was this part of your plan? Hmm? Do everything wrong to spare your son prison time?"

"My plan?" he asked slowly in disbelief. Shifting on his feet, the redhead said, "At the time of Kyle's arrest, I was unaware that he was my son."

She leaned back against the dark metal desk holding the AV equipment. "You expect me to believe that?" Her fingers tapped rhythmically against the tabletop; it was one of her habits that he'd noticed when they were dating.

"I do, Rebecca. It's the truth."

Her hand smacked the metal. "Bullshit."

He sighed. "You think… that I knew he was my son and started a fight with him on purpose? Is that it?"

"Yeah, Horatio, that's exactly it," Rebecca said seriously. "You are… without a doubt, the most high-minded man I've ever met."

"Thank you," the redhead said softly, even though he thought that Kyle was all the proof anyone needed to see that that wasn't true. Not anymore anyway.

"It wasn't a compliment," she bit back. "You're preachy and judgmental."

And Horatio thought about their break up at that moment, just as she must have. He had never regretted that decision, hadn't even grieved the end of the relationship, because… he couldn't be with someone who would make deals with cop killers. Maybe the redhead could forgive other flaws, but not that. Never that.

"You'll punish anyone who doesn't meet your expectations," Rebecca snapped, interrupting his thoughts. "So do you really expect me to believe that you had a son you never knew about? Because… last time I checked, Horatio Caine wasn't the kind of guy to do things like casual sex." She stood up straight.

"You're certainly not the kind of officer to rough someone up for the fun of it. So… I'll ask you again, do you really expect me to believe any of this?" Rebecca closed the distance between them, her heels making her the perfect height to look him in the eye.

"It's the truth, Rebecca," Horatio simply replied.

"All right," she said, sighing. But it wasn't, the redhead thought, a sound of defeat. His ex didn't sound convinced at all, and she certainly didn't look like she was going to back down.

"Your son _had_ a deal, thanks to his testimony regarding your misconduct," she explained. "But unfortunately I cannot, in good faith, accept that agreement any longer. For the record, Horatio, I was going to give you a chance to explain this." The dark-haired woman moved around him, her hand resting on the doorknob. "But since you would rather lie than do your job and tell me the truth… Kyle Harmon's now facing time in prison."

They were words the redhead dreaded. "Rebecca," he said warningly. "This is not smart of you," Horatio continued, his voice now rough, dangerous.

"No? Your _precious_ son kidnapped a woman; he needs to be punished for that. Or are you only concerned with justice when it doesn't involve your family? You're always bailing out your sister-in-law. And then there's your nephew," she said disdainfully. "I guess it was only a matter of time before your own son thought he could get away with –"

"Do_not_ do this," he told her.

"Consider it already done." Grabbing the door handle and wrenching it open, Rebecca stormed off.

All alone, Horatio replayed the conversation in his mind. She was serious; he couldn't deny that. And the redhead, standing in the dark room, hoped that Kyle would let him in… if only so that the boy could stay out of jail.

The lieutenant knew his ex would strike as quickly as possible. If she hadn't already fast tracked the trial, she would definitely be placing that call now. Which meant Horatio had no time to lose.

Hurrying out of the AV lab, the redhead rushed back to where Kyle was waiting. "Can we get this over with?" the boy snapped.

"Results are in," Valera said, standing next to him. "But I wanted to wait –"

"It's fine," Horatio told her. She tried to hand him the test results, but he shook his head. "Give them to him. He's the one who needs to see them."

Her brown eyes looked at him unsure, but she didn't say anything, merely handed the teenager the printed piece of paper.

Horatio watched his son carefully, waited to see what he would do. But the boy remained stoic, silent.

Finally Kyle looked up. "So… you're my father," he said slowly. "That's what this says."

"Yes," the redhead told him, trying to put as much conviction in his voice as possible.

The teenager nodded but said nothing.

It was almost bizarre, Horatio thought. He'd anticipated anger – lots of yelling, because that would be how _he_ would react, the redhead thought. He'd already accepted that Kyle wouldn't jump for joy over the news. But the teenager wasn't angry or happy, wasn't yelling or crying or doing anything.

Which made Horatio's next move all the more difficult to discern. The only child he'd ever spent much time with was Ray Junior, and silent had parted ways with his nephew around the time Yelina weaned him.

What was he supposed to do now?

The answer came almost immediately, thankfully.

"You screwed up my deal," Kyle said accusingly.

"I know," Horatio admitted. The boy looked as though he wanted to say something, but didn't. So the redhead could only add, "And we will fix that."

The blond scoffed. "And how are _we_ going to do that?"

"First, you tell me everything, Kyle." Horatio tried to direct him out of the DNA lab and back towards the elevator, but the teenager resisted.

"That's it?" he asked, and they stopped walking. "Everything's changed all of a sudden? And I'm supposed to tell you 'everything'?"

The redhead sighed. "I know you may not believe this, son, but…" What could he say though? He doubted any kind of sentimentality would go over well at the moment. And to an extent, Horatio couldn't deny that it would be lying.

So he decided to stick with the facts. It was safer to do that, to keep whatever burgeoning feelings there were close to his chest at the moment. "The way I see it, Kyle, right now you have no one else who will help you." They began to walk again, the teenager keeping his distance. "So you either trust me –"

"I don't," the blond said through gritted teeth.

They got on the elevator together, eyeing one another up and down. Silent assessment, suspicion, distrust, dislike, hate even; memories played through Horatio's mind, repeating once, tenfold, until every father-son relationship he knew of overlapped this one. They barely knew one another, and already they were doomed to replicate what they understood of fatherhood.

As the doors had closed, Horatio wanted to do something, _say_ something to make it right, to fix it. But there was no easy way to do that, no simple words that would change the last sixteen years, and so, the redhead decided to focus on the matter at hand. At least until a lie or _something_ came to mind.

Narrowing his eyes, in a hopefully imploring way, on the teenager, he asked him, "You'd rather go to jail than accept my help?"

Kyle turned and looked at him. "The way I see it, that's only true if you actually plan on helping me. But if you don't want to do that… if you're just out to get me, then telling you everything wouldn't exactly be smart, would it?"

The redhead had known that they would come to this, that Kyle would demand answers and deserve them, and that Horatio would have absolutely nothing. And here he was – no closer to convincing the boy to capitulate than he had been earlier in the day.

There were no wonderful answers to be given, no lies he could tell that would seem real enough to push Kyle. There was nothing, and yet Horatio knew that he could _not_ give up. Because doing that would leave his son out in the open for Rebecca Nevins.

And she would ruin him.

She would put the teenager in prison until there was absolutely no hope left for the boy. Until there was no son left to speak of to save. It wasn't an option, but there they were staring down that path.

And as the elevator doors open, Horatio knew they were taking their first steps down it when he saw Calleigh's eyes. She stood there waiting, some patrolmen by her side. "Orders just came through Horatio," she explained to him.

Her eyes were cool, and he wasn't sure that she knew the truth. He had been convinced of it earlier, and if she did know, the blonde was great at hiding it.

"Kyle Harmon," she said. "You're under arrest."

The teen's brown eyes slid over to him, and they looked at one another; the challenge in his dark irises could not be ignored. Nor missed, but just in case, as the officer began to read the boy his rights, Kyle said, "You want to make this right, then do it… But don't expect my help."

And as they dragged his son away for booking, Horatio couldn't help but feel relieved. For the first time that day, he didn't feel so completely incompetent and out of touch. Because if there was one thing the redhead could do, it was follow the evidence. He hadn't done it earlier, sure, but he hadn't really been looking for the truth then.

Now it was all he looked for.

Nothing could stop him from finding the answers he sought. And, Horatio told himself, if the truth didn't seek his purpose, then… there would be other ways of getting what he wanted. Rebecca had been wrong; he wasn't all that high-minded. He had beliefs but had no problem going against them, and for his own child, he would surely do that.

Kyle Harmon would _not_ go to jail, Horatio decided. And as he left the police station once more, the redhead could feel it in his bones. That dark part of himself that he tried so hard to stifle had awoken – and this time he relished it. No matter where it took Horatio, his _son_ wouldn't be going to jail. Not for this.

The price didn't concern him. Nothing else mattered. Because as the darkness threatened to overtake him, Horatio could only, for the first time, see... his son.

_End (16/??)_


	17. Chapter 16: Of cell Phones and Cells

Author's Notes: I have to first thank those who have continued to read this story and stick with it. We still have a long way to go before the end, but thank you for making it this far, any way. Once again, I am grateful to RedHotLover, daxy, and angelgrl31392 for their kind reviews. And especially to my beta, Olly, thank you, thank you, thank you. You keep me going and make this great, and you're an awesome friend – better than I deserve.

_Disclaimer: I am not Jerry Bruckheimer or anyone else associated with the real thing. I just wish that were so. _

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Sixteen: Of cell Phones and Cells**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers." – M. Scott Peck_

By the time Horatio arrived at the condemned house, the sun had set completely. Looking down at the case file in his lap, the redhead double checked to see that this was the right address. Though it was hard to see in the dark, the lieutenant could make out the exterior of the rickety home, which had been turned into crummy apartments almost fifty years ago; the location matched Calleigh's crime scene photos perfectly. He was at the right place.

CSI had collected samples from the area earlier that day, the redhead knew. It was the place that the other two teens had named in their interviews. This was where the Gannon woman had been kept during her kidnapping. And this would be where Horatio would start his own investigation – the first step to keeping Kyle out of jail.

Determined, the redhead opened his car door and hopped out of the Hummer. The night air was chilly, biting at his cheeks, forcing him to accept that these would be the last days of summer. He reached back into his car, grabbing his kit and taking out his flashlight.

But he didn't get very far as a second hummer screeched up to the cracked sidewalk. It was too dark to see who was behind the wheel, the headlights blinding him. And Horatio's hand didn't hesitate to find his gun. The metal was cool against his rough fingertips, but he waited to see who would exit the car.

The lieutenant was only mildly surprised to see Calleigh step out of the car, her impractical heeled boots tapping against the pavement. Pushing her blonde hair out of her face, she asked, "What are you doing here, Horatio?" Her voice sounded exasperated but not suspicious or angry.

He tried to get a better look at her, tried to see her face, but it was too dark out. So he decided to play it safe and told her, "I want to make sure we didn't miss something."

Through the darkness, he could see her sway slightly in front of him. "You want someone to go over the scene again, then all right, but… you can't do it. It's against policy."

Well that settled the matter; there was no way Calleigh _didn't_ know the truth now, he thought. "So the truth is out then," he said.

"You think something as big as having a son would remain a secret? Horatio, the FBI couldn't contain that." There was no arguing that, the redhead knew. And considering he'd done nothing to hide the truth, it wasn't totally surprising that someone had found out. Not when he'd paraded Kyle and the DNA test around earlier.

Still it hurt – just as the redhead knew it would – to have no one believe in him anymore. Before the blonde would have let him do nearly anything, would have followed him to the ends of the earth to help him accomplish his goal. She'd trusted him in a way that seemed almost… inappropriate for this profession, where you needed to be dispassionate and unaffected; they didn't have the luxury to trust anyone unconditionally.

"I trust you," Calleigh said seemingly aware of what he had been thinking. "I don't honestly believe that you would plant evidence. But you can't go in there alone. If you find evidence all by yourself, no state's attorney is going to be able to use that." From her pocket, she plucked her own miniature flashlight. "You need help."

Her words filled him with relief, and it gave him some hope that maybe…_maybe_ things wouldn't have to change that much. But Horatio couldn't help but ask her, "You don't want to know –"

"No," she said a little too quickly. Her words didn't sound like a snap to him; there was no audible anger, but… it was clear that their friendship had changed. That as much as she might trust him, some part of her… didn't.

And the redhead knew then that it had been foolish of him to believe things could remain the same. Because he hadn't done something frivolous like steal something from her kit (a pet peeve Calleigh had acquired long before Speedle and cemented with his death). Having Kyle was bigger than that, whether he liked it or not.

She might be willing to help; they _all_ might be willing to do their jobs still, but… the personal trust had been broken.

Maybe he could earn it back at some point, but in the meantime, there was nothing he could do about it. Right now at least, the situation was… what it was.

"You take the perimeter. I'll take the inside," she suggested, breaking the silence. "Holler if you find something, and I'll bag it."

Horatio watched, his eyes straining ever so slightly, as she headed inside, pushing the home's battered door out of the way. He supposed that technically he had the right to insist on other arrangements; if he'd really wanted to, the redhead could have asked her to take the outside. But in all honesty, Horatio knew that he needed her help. And so he bowed his head and got to work.

The house-turned-apartment-complex was unremarkable in every way; the lieutenant doubted that anyone would have paid much attention to it, making it the perfect location to stash someone. Its yard clearly demonstrated the neglect of the property. The grass felt brittle underneath his feet, and looking down, Horatio could see that it was, in some parts, overgrown.

Lining the shabby home were several bushes. They too needed to be clipped, as a person could no longer tell where one plant ended and the other began. Not looking forward to wading through _that,_ the redhead decided to save that part of the yard for last.

Starting at the edges of the yard, there wasn't much evidence lying around. A few cigarette butts had been stamped out by the back door. For a moment, Horatio debated whether to collect it himself or wait for Calleigh. But thinking of Kyle who was probably sitting in a holding cell right now, he made the decision to bag everything himself.

If it really mattered to her, his blonde colleague could re-collect the evidence. He could only hope that she still trusted him that much. If not… if Calleigh refused to accept what he'd found, if she didn't believe in good faith that he'd discovered the evidence, then… better to know it now, Horatio thought.

But unfortunately, there wasn't much that the CSI team hadn't already recovered. Aside from the cigarette butts, the redhead, after nearly an hour of searching, only found a receipt from a hardware store a block from Kyle's foster home. They were long shots, most likely circumstantial evidence at best. And at worst, it might even implicate his son further.

He sighed. The only area left to investigate was the menacing tangles of bushes next to the house. A passing sweep of the area, and his blue eyes saw nothing remarkable. But maybe…

Wooden branches, dusting the grass, snapped underneath his feet. The remaining limbs bit into his legs, scratching him, despite the fact that he was wearing pants. Putting his flashlight in his teeth, the lieutenant began to wade through the bushes. It was a long shot, but his blue eyes remained fixed on the ground before him, searching through the leaves and grass.

Pushing branches aside, scouring for answers, Horatio couldn't help but muse how long it had been since he'd taken part in an investigation like this. These days his role on the team was mainly supervisory, which he had come to prefer. The science still interested him, sure, but it was slow. And Horatio had always understood that he worked better with those parameters, but… that didn't mean he liked it.

The redhead preferred the feeling of… actually doing _something –_ as blasphemous as it was for the CSI to even think thatNot waiting for lab results, but looking for answers.

And yet, as horrible as this should have been – wading through branches – there was something about it that made Horatio's blood sing. He felt alive in a way, more determined than he had probably ever been to solve a case.

Taking one more step, the redhead's foot kicked something that made a loud slap against the siding of the house. Shifting his flashlight around, Horatio could see the silver cell phone gleaming back at him. He picked it up, trying in vain to keep his head out of the bushes. The CSI made a mental note to make sure he didn't have any bugs on him before he went to sleep that night.

But it didn't matter, because the strange cell phone in his hand, Horatio could feel it in his bones: he'd just cracked the case.

ch16ch16ch16ch

Black ink stained his fingers. His picture had been taken, the mug shot no doubt capturing his busted head, which still throbbed.

Well, that was it then, Kyle supposed. He was now officially arrested, and from the cop chatter, they were going to try him as an adult.

It didn't really hit him what that might mean; the words made sense in his mind, but beyond that… real, actual prison was something he'd never experienced, had never seen. And Kyle had no idea whether or not what was portrayed on TV came anywhere near close to what the real thing as like.

But sitting alone in his little cell – all metal and cold concrete – the blond couldn't help but wonder what was going to happen now.

He'd been so sure that he wouldn't be going to jail. In his defense though, the teen hadn't considered the lieutenant would turn out to be his father. Quickly, Kyle made a mental note to make sure all future deals didn't have a "we'll-take-it-away-if-Daddy-shows-up" clause.

At least the small room had a bed. Or rather a metal plate that could only be considered a bed if being able to lay on it counted. Still it was better than nothing, and after pacing his cell a few times, Kyle plopped down onto the cool bunk.

He didn't want to sleep, couldn't even if he did, but it was a nice change of pace. There were a few men in cells next to him; they thankfully said nothing. But there was a general din about the entire area. The guards chattered about, occasionally walking up and down the narrow hallway. Their boots scuffed against the floor, and one man seemed to have a nasty cough. And each of Kyle's thoughts seemed to be pierced with a sniffle or the sound of phlegm being forced out of the man's throat.

It was gross. But if he really was going to jail, the blond understood all too well that he'd better get used to it – and probably worse. Hell, _definitely _worse.

He shook his head, rolled over to face the wall. Using a finger, Kyle traced a crack in the off white paint. Thinking about what might happen wasn't going to help anything.

Horatio Caine.

The words popped into his head then. It was the first time he'd really thought of the name, despite having heard it a handful of times today. "Horatio Caine," he whispered as quietly as possible. At that moment, the sick guard coughed again, the sound swallowing up Kyle's barely said admittance.

So much had happened, that only now did the blond truly begin to grasp what that name meant.

Horatio Caine was… his father.

It was a foreign concept to him, the words sounding so bizarre. A mother he'd had, could remember easily, constantly. Her soft skin, her warm and airy voice – he hadn't forgotten that.

But a father? Kyle had never really had one of those. He'd had a stepfather, the blond supposed. However, that had been in title only, and he was _sure_ that that man hadn't been a decent representative of what even a stepfather should be.

There'd been foster fathers, but even then… that was different. Kyle didn't really know, but part of parenting had to be _not_ giving up your kid at any available opportunity. Foster parents were dead useful, no doubt. But there was always the looming impermanence of it all, which made it hard to form bonds with anyone.

And Horatio Caine didn't seem to be faring much better.

Maybe Kyle just wasn't meant to have a lasting family. Definitely didn't seem like it would ever happen.

But in his heart, though he dare not give it a voice, the blond wondered… what was going to happen now.

He hadn't agreed to tell the redhead everything he knew; that just seemed foolish, because Horatio hadn't earned any trust yet. And Kyle tried to avoid thinking about the what ifs lurking in the back of his mind but could not.

If the redhead could get him out of jail – or if the blond merely got lucky and wasn't found guilty – then what would happen? Would he go into a different foster home? He doubted his current foster family had any interest in accepting him back into their house. After all, thanks to their whore daughter, they all believed that this kidnapping was his master plan.

Anger surged within him, the desire to punch something almost overwhelming. But there was nothing he could do now – at least not in this small cell. Feebly, his rage slinked away, bottling itself up for later. As a distraction, he started to pick away at the crack in the wall.

But_if_ he managed to stay out of jail, Kyle thought, what would happen then? And if, on the off chance that it _was_ Horatio who made that happen, then… what would that mean?

The blond could only assume that he would be expected to _thank_ the redhead. Maybe even to accept the man as his father. However, that seemed easier said than done, because Kyle didn't know that he could do that. In the very _least_, it had been a long time since he'd been a son to anyone. And the teenager wasn't quite sure he knew how to do that anymore.

Which didn't even take into account whether or not he actually _wanted_ a father.

A small hunk of plaster fell from the wall, disintegrating on the metal bed. Really, he thought, a father might be okay. But if parents were going to be randomly popping out of nowhere, he would much prefer his mother.

It wasn't possible, Kyle told himself. He knew that, had come to accept that horrible fact of life. Still… if by some small chance it was, then… screw having a father.

His still dirty fingers flicked the small pieces of plaster off the metal bunk.

Maybe a father could be okay, he thought. But if it wasn't what you wanted, Kyle wondered, did it even really matter?

_End (17/??)_


	18. Chapter 17: Where were you?

A tiny little note: thanks to my super beta, Olly, for all of her hard work. No one else could do what you do for my fics. Thank you.

_Disclaimer: I do not own CSI: Miami. Do not sue me._

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Seventeen: Where were you?**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_Some choices we live not only once but a thousand times over, remembering them for the rest of our lives." – Richard Bach_

She hung up the phone, the receiver clicking as it was placed back in its cradle. Her hand lingered there, still clasping the cool black metal. So it was done, the brunette thought. Her fingers nervously tucked a dark curl behind her ear. No longer would she be a private investigator.

There was no doubt in Yelina's mind that it was the right thing to do. Kyle Harmon's file sat across from her on the couch where Horatio had put it after making copies on her all-in-one printer. The folder closed, it still made her heart feel heavy. She liked her job well enough, but it was dangerous. And she could no longer avoid that truth, did not want to.

So easily that blond boy could be her own.

Ray Junior's future was already tenuous at best, which the mother_ hated. _In secret, Yelina sometimes wondered when it would all catch up with him – when her son would finally be arrested or… worse. He was so stubborn and so lost at times that she feared, even with her constant presence, he would turn out like his father. That he would do things she could not fix, go places she couldn't bring him back from.

Her tongue ran along her teeth as she told herself once more that it was the right thing to do. But the uncomfortable feeling twisting at her stomach made the brunette want to reconsider her decision.

It was odd, Yelina thought, that she should be feel both reluctant and saddened over giving her two weeks notice. Being a private investigator had been a means to an end. They'd taken away her husband's pension, which she hadn't fought.

Honestly, she was surprised they'd let her have it this long. And while the money was useful, it had always been more about the gesture itself. It had said that Raymond Caine had been a good cop, a loss to the community, even though there had been whispers to the contrary. Now there was no pension big enough, no act grand enough, to make her want to carry around the title of Ray's widow. So she'd given it up willingly, despite knowing that that money would help pay for things.

And until she came in to answer questions for them on her "missing year," the police department had refused to hire her back. So she'd looked into P.I. work. In theory, Yelina didn't mind telling her former employers everything she knew. Her understanding of Raymond's activities was vague at best, and as his wife, she was protected under the law; there was no doubt in her mind that the police department would hire her back if she were both honest and contrite enough.

But she had refused to answer their questions because of Ray Junior. The mother wasn't naïve enough to think that her son had remained ignorant to her husband's ways. If anything, the teenager probably knew more than _her. _However, Yelina doubted very much that her child would appreciate her telling the police everything in order to get her job back.

And too, there was Horatio to think about; she was not under legal obligation to arrest her husband. But her brother-in-law had no such protection. If she told the police the truth… Horatio would be arrested. Yet here the brunette was, her hand forced.

The palm of her hand pressed against her fluttering stomach.

But quickly, Yelina pushed the feeling aside.

There was no other choice. She needed a job, she told herself, and being a PI was no longer an option. And there were probably some who would say that being a detective wasn't much safer. But Yelina didn't believe that.

It was still dangerous, of course, but at least she'd be able to carry a gun once more. And there would be other people, other detectives, CSI's, and patrolmen. Which made this job seem all the more favorable over the solitary P.I. life. The brunette was sure that her brother-in-law would remain ill at ease over her decision. But then again, Horatio was rarely comfortable with the choices she made.

Yelina sighed, standing up. Her hands absent-mindedly straightened her clothes. Making her way into the kitchen to do the dishes, the brunette told herself that her brother-in-law would just have to accept this decision. Because she'd set up a meeting to get her job back tomorrow so there was no time for him to object.

As she scrubbed a plate, Yelina knew that it would be a difficult two weeks, assuming she did actually get her job back. But she also figured that they would want her to pass a few skills tests before sending her out on actual cases, leaving her time to tie up some loose ends as a private investigator.

She shouldn't think like that though, the brunette told herself. At this point, Yelina wasn't sure what she would tell her potential bosses about her year in Rio. The truth, sadly, might not work in her favor. She might be protected under the law, but that didn't mean her actions were… good. Her mind instinctively tried to hedge around the truth, but it was too late. Whether she wanted to or not, Yelina was already traveling down that road, was already remembering each day she had spent in South America.

The wet plate in her hands clacked loudly as she shoved it into the dishwasher. Sometimes her time in Brazil seemed like nothing more than an isolated nightmare, where everything she did was wrong and only led to more pain. The brunette understood all too well that… though she didn't _have _to testify against her husband, wasn't under any obligation to turn him in, she should have. She'd been wrong. She'd done the wrong thing, she told herself. Why was that so hard to say, she wondered.

Even now, Yelina wasn't sure why she had turned a blind eye to all of Raymond's misdeeds. At some point, she had realized that the love they'd once shared had pretty much disappeared; the brunette had no longer trusted her husband, had stopped believing in his ability to turn things around. The wife didn't stay because she thought it would get better.

But… even all this time later, there was some part of her that believed staying was what she should have done. That it was her responsibility, her duty – to whom she didn't know. Maybe for her son… at least, that was what she remembered telling herself upon occasion. That this was all for her child, although keeping Ray Junior in that environment was a mistake. A huge error on her part, if the mother did believe this was her motivation.

Which maybe she did. She wasn't sure anymore, because more than anything, the brunette remembered feeling… resigned to her life. There had been a few times, sure, where she told herself whatever she needed to to get through the day. Yelina had been well aware, thanks to Ray's biting words, that she could leave at any time. He hadn't forced her to stay – had, if anything, tried to push her away. But she felt coerced into living in Brazil nonetheless.

Yes, she could leave if she wanted to, but flitting through her memories, Yelina saw that there was no real consideration given to that option. She'd _wanted_ to leave, of course. Yet… the wife had stood by her husband.

And if she didn't know how to explain that fact to herself, how was she to defend her choices to a committee of people?

Finishing the dishes, Yelina frowned at how red her hands were; even though they were still wet, she could feel the uncomfortable tautness surrounding each inch of skin. The brunette was vain, she would admit to that. But there was little more that she despised than having rough unkempt fingers.

She should have used her yellow latex gloves, but she'd been too focused on the looming interview.

Glancing at the ticking clock hanging on the wall, Yelina decided that it was late enough to go to sleep. At Rick Stetler's insistence, her job interrogation was early in the morning. And it hit her then that it would probably be smart to let Ray Junior know.

The sound of her knuckles rapping against the door filled the silent home. But there was no answer, so, rolling her eyes, the mother went into his room. She had assumed that he was – as usual – too busy listening to music with headphones on to here her. However, the room was empty.

Yelina looked around, checked under his bed, perhaps thinking (or hoping) that he would appear from some nook in the miraculously still cluttered room. But after searching every possible hiding spot, his bathroom – _her _bathroom – and the rest of the house, she realized he was gone.

The mother in her started to well up with panic. She didn't consider herself to be an easily upset parent, but it seemed like her family was always doomed for her disaster. And given her son's behavior, the brunette was constantly eager to assume the worse. Because, she started to think while checking each room once more, the worst possible explanation usually turned out to be true. She could feel her heart begin to beat quickly, an unfortunate, but permanent, side effect of having lived through her son being kidnapped.

But in her mind, Yelina wasn't ready to accept that something had happened. She would at least attempt to find him first. Quickly, her warm hands snatched the phone in his room, dialing his cell as quickly as she could remember the numbers. And with half-relief, half-bubbling anger, the mother was met with Ray Junior's "Hello" on the second ring.

"I don't care where you are," she snapped. "I don't care what you're doing. Just get home. Now." Her voice was dangerous, the accent in her voice thick even to her own ears.

She slammed the phone back into its cradle. As much as she loved her child, sometimes… Yelina wanted nothing more than to strangle him.

ch17ch17ch17ch

"Who was that?" Todd asked suspiciously.

Ray Junior shook his head, his short curls tickling the tops of his ears. "Just my psychotic mother."

"You're leaving?"

The teenager snatched the CD-rom from the computer's disc drive. As he began to stick it in the plastic case, Ray said apologetically, "I have to."

"But we have work to do, Ray!" The other boy began stalking around his bedroom angrily. "And I thought…" he said more quietly but not finishing the thought.

Ray Junior took a step towards the blond teen. His brown eyes raked over the angry boy in front of him. He put a hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Believe me, I know," Ray told Todd, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. "You think I want to go home? Cause… I'd seriously rather not." Taking a deep breath, the teenager, resigned, started to explain what the likely domino effect would be.

"But if I stay," he started. "Then she'll get all upset and call my uncle and then we'll have the cops searching for me. Because the natural explanation for me being gone in their minds is 'Shit, Ray's laying in a ditch somewhere. Let's freak out as much as humanly possible.' And then I'll either never be able to go home or they'll find me here and then my crazy mother will lock me up in a closet for the rest of my life." Pausing for air, he finished simply, "and we won't get the damn game done."

"I know," Todd said softly. "It's just… well, you know." There was something in the teen's voice that sounded so needy. And though the words weren't spoken, it was clear to Ray Junior that Todd wanted him to stay, for reasons not involving the game.

"Yeah, I do." Ray shoved the game into his bag and started to head towards the bedroom door. But rethinking his move, the brunet turned around, stalked back towards Todd, pulling him close. Using one of his hands, Ray ran his thumb along Todd's jaw line. The blond took a step forward, and the two teenagers kissed, slowly, their lips pressing together passionately.

Pulling away, Ray Junior said, "Believe me: I know." He too left the words, I wish I could stay, unsaid.

One last chaste kiss, and the teenager left, irritated. He'd really, really, _really_ rather stay with Todd and work on the game or… do _other_ things. But here he was, walking home, each step filled with regret and anger.

Sometimes, he thought, his mother really fucking sucked.

_End (18/??)_


	19. Chapter 18: Pushing Boundaries

Author's Notes: Thanks to princess-moon-shadow and daxy for their kind reviews. But more than anything, I have to thank my wonderful beta, Olly, for all of her work on this; without your help, I don't know where I'd be on this thing. I appreciate everything you do for me. Thank you.

_Disclaimer: I don't own it… which you can probably tell, because I draw the line at Vaporizers. Don't sue me. _

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Eighteen: Pushing Boundaries**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_Whereas the Greeks gave to will the boundaries of reason, we have come to put the will's impulse in the very center of reason, which has, as a result, become deadly." – Albert Camus_

"I told you to wait," she said. It was the angriest Calleigh had ever been with him, Horatio thought. Her voice only held the smallest amount of fury she would allow, still respectful on the surface. But even through the dark, he could see her green eyes blazing, narrowing on him. "I told you," the blonde repeated, "that if you found something, I would –"

"You were inside," the redhead said simply. "I didn't think it would matter."

"You know it does, Horatio."

"Re-bag it," he told her. She sighed and proceeded, though begrudgingly, to do just that.

Cutting through the bags he'd used, Calleigh spoke up, "I don't know why you couldn't have waited. It would have taken less time in the long run."

"I needed to do something," the redhead told her quietly. "I… couldn't wait." It was hardly an explanation. Horatio realized that much, but he truly had no other motivation. Faced with the idea that his son could be in jail, yes, he'd disregarded what Calleigh had wanted. And maybe she was right, he conceded, about how long it would take in the end.

But what else was he supposed to do?

He watched impatiently as she finished re-labeling the receipts, the cigarette butts, and the cell phone. The blonde stood up, the heels of her boots wobbling unevenly on the pavement. She sighed. "So he's really your son, then... Have you told Yelina yet? Or does she already –"

"No," he said to her quickly, shaking his head. His voice didn't sound mean, he hoped, but already, Horatio could tell that his impatience was bleeding through. And if there was one thing he didn't want to discuss right now, it was his sister-in-law and the power he now had to completely destroy her.

Still, another part of him thought… Right now, he needed Calleigh's help. Which meant he should smooth things over. Hastily, he added in a much softer voice, "I haven't said anything to her."

"You should," Calleigh said almost immediately.

He nodded his head. "I will. After this is taken care of, I'll let her know."

"I meant… you should do it now." Listening carefully to her voice, Horatio could tell that something was off. There was no concern in her tone, no sound of affection or friendship. And he knew then that this wasn't about telling Yelina to protect her or to make things better for his family.

She wasn't giving him advice, at least not in the way that she usually did. No, now Calleigh was trying to get rid of him. "She'll hear it eventually, so…"

"I want to take care of this first," Horatio said.

"You can't handle the evidence," she retorted. "The _best_ thing you can do right now is stay away, Horatio." Her voice was pleading and maybe just a little harsh.

Or perhaps he was reading that last emotion in her tones. Because, for the life of him, he could _not_ see how… being told to _go away_, that he didn't _belong_ at a crime scene, could be anything other than cruel. Deliberately mean too, the redhead thought to himself, furthering his torment.

A lump seemed to grow in his throat. Calleigh had always believed in him, had always supported him. And he had known that it wouldn't be easy when everyone learned that Kyle was his son, but… actually experiencing it now was much harder to take. "You don't trust me." The redhead tried, but failed, to keep the waver out of his voice.

"He's your _son_! That makes you the worst person to examine the evidence."

"I'm not biased," he said, trying miserably to defend himself.

"Only hours ago you were ready to beat the hell out of him. And the only thing that's changed is you've learned he's your kid." She walked away, her shoulders stiff, taking the evidence with her. The conversation was effectively over now; she'd made sure of that.

But he wasn't ready to give up yet.

"I wasn't doing my job then," Horatio told her. "I… _wanted_ to believe he was guilty."

She opened the back door of her Hummer and stuffed the evidence inside. Turning around to face him once more, Calleigh asked him, "But don't you see? He _is_ guilty. We have DNA to prove that Kyle Harmon was in this house."

He nodded his head slowly, wearily. "Rebecca Nevins wants to try him as an adult, Calleigh. Maybe he is guilty, but beyond hope? I don't know that. I don't see that." His voice was soft and earnest, his eyes searching hers for some sort of conciliation.

So quietly that he had to strain to hear her, she said, "Maybe you just can't see it... maybe you just refuse to."

In only a few words, Calleigh had managed to give voice to something Horatio had tried to stave off for as long as possible. And now that she had done so, he couldn't deny that he was unsure about Kyle – wary of the boy's guilt and innocence, completely unsure as to whether the teenager would benefit from having a father in his life.

But, at the same time… Horatio _knew_ that the alternative was hardly better. More than likely, he wasn't going to be the world's greatest dad; the fact was, given the past sixteen years, the redhead was probably already out of the running for that. However, how could prison be any better? Even though raising this boy would probably be laden with mistakes, how could leaving the boy with rapists and murderers be an improvement?

If he were going to believe that, he decided, he needed proof.

"Then show me," Horatio said with finality. "Prove it to me with this evidence. Work as hard as you can to demonstrate how guilty he is, and I will try to do the opposite. And together, we'll find the truth, whatever it may be."

Silence temporarily filled the air, his challenge washing over her. Agreeing, Calleigh said, "All right. Let's do that… what do you want to start with?"

"The receipt," he told her.

That she didn't fight him on this was a good sign. Or at least, Horatio decided to take it as such. Instead, the blond nodded her head and got in her car. Following suit, the redhead couldn't help but think, as he looked up at the stars, that maybe things were looking up.

88888

Using the tips of his fingers, the brunet pushed the door shut as quietly as possible. The house was silent, and Ray Junior could only hope that she was asleep. Breaking the silence, a click of the lock filled the air, and the teenager let out the breath he'd been holding. So far so good.

Still, he'd better be careful. Tiptoeing in sneakers was difficult – especially with an overly stuffed bag on his shoulder, but Ray was determined not to get caught.

Of course, he knew that his mother would be pissed, even if she didn't catch him tonight. But right now, she'd be breathing fire, and the teenager didn't feel like dealing with that shit. And maybe if he could avoid the dragon-mother animorph tonight, she'd get bored and turn her attention elsewhere.

Almost immediately a pang of mourning gripped at his throat, held him captive. It made no sense to him, how he could go for a few days with only a vague sense of sadness. Ray always missed his father, but sometimes, it just seemed unbearable. And he hated to think of it now, because it probably wasn't the most flattering reason to miss someone.

Dear Dad, he composed in his head. It sucks that you're dead, because right now, Mom is on the warpath, and I could use a sacrificial lamb. Hoping your screw-ups will always outdo my own – Love, Ray.

Such a proud father-son bonding moment, he told himself sarcastically.

As quietly as he could, the brunet slung his bag higher on his shoulder. But he hadn't been careful enough. His eyes closed, cringing, as he heard the sound of papers and the CD-rom shift inside his bag.

"Where have you been?" she barked, her voice filling the room forcefully. He spun around and saw her, finally. Her arms folded across her chest, his mother stood in the kitchen. Her eyes were narrowed on him in an instant, making his skin crawl. And unless he was completely out of his mind, he was sure he could hear her teeth grinding together from here.

How had he missed seeing her? Ray berated himself mentally.

"Answer me. Now." She stalked towards in him, the space between them becoming smaller and smaller until she was right in front of him.

A little voice inside his head told the teenager that he should let his self-preservation kick in. She was mad as hell, and Ray knew he should tell her the truth or apologize. Make this as easy as possible. But the brunet could also feel the pull of his genes – Daddy's little boy, which meant he didn't have it in him to simplify matters.

Fuck you, he thought. He wasn't going to roll over and answer all of her questions.

"Where were you, Raymond?" she asked again. Her voice was dangerous, cold.

He bristled. "I don't have to tell you anything."

She stepped closer to him. "Oh, yes, you do."

"Fine," Ray said through gritted teeth. "I was kidnapped – seriously, I was just sitting in my room and then, it was the damnedest thing. Bam – kidnapped." He gave her a cool smile. It was cruel as hell, he knew, given that he _had_ been snatched by some of his father's friends in the past. And generally speaking, he didn't like to think about that day (at least not in those terms). But if it made his mother upset, which it clearly was doing, then fine by him.

"Do_not_ make jokes like that," she sniped furious. Her mouth was turned down into a frown, her cheeks reddening with anger. The teenager shrugged. "No," she said harshly. "No. No, you don't say things like that, Ray."

"I just did." The brunet had the sudden desire to stick his tongue out at her, but he resisted.

"Answer my question."

"I was out." He couldn't deny that this was beginning to wear on his nerves, that he was ready for this fight to be over. But there was _no_ way Ray was going to back down.

His mother sighed before pushing a strand of hair out of her face. "Why does this have to be like pulling teeth? Why can't you just tell me -

"Because you automatically assume I've done something wrong!" he roared.

"Because you _have_!" she snapped back. "You leave here, in the middle of a school night. No note, no warning, _nothing_. So… do not think I assume anything."

"Yeah, whatever." It was a lame-ass comeback, but he didn't have much else to offer. "We both know if I was anyone else –"

"If you were anyone else, I would not care!" She was furious, he could tell that.

But it quickly gave way to something else. The soft look on her face was one Ray Junior had seen many times before, usually when she thought he wasn't watching. "You are my son… Honey…" she started to say, her voice gentle and… maternal, he guessed. She moved closer to him, but the teenager backed away. "My child."

God, he thought. She could be _so_ possessive at times, but right now… Ray wasn't sure that he minded it all that much.

"If you were someone else's, it wouldn't matter. But you are _mine_, which means I will _always_ worry about you."

She stepped forward again, this time grabbing his chin and trapping it between her thumb and index finger. Her touch was firm but gentle, and in the back of his mind, Ray thought that maybe he should be afraid. Because he understood that she could be dangerous when she wanted to be. And yet… he wasn't, because he _knew_ that what she said was the truth. If it were anyone else, she would have cut ties with him or never have cared at all.

"I worry about you no matter what you do," the mother told him. "So please, Ray, _stop_ punishing me for that. And have the courtesy to _tell_ me what you're doing." She stroked his cheek with the back of her hand gently for only a moment before starting to walk away.

"So what are you going to do?" he asked, surprised at how quickly their fight had ended. "Put tracking devices in everything I own from now on so you can know exactly where I am at all times?"

The brunette turned around. "Yes, because it worked so well the last time, hmm?" She shook her head. "I… honestly don't know what to do with you, Ray. Nothing I do seems to make a difference. So you tell me what it is that I should do." There was such defeat in her voice – and not in the way he'd wanted.

If anything, it sounded like she was giving up. Throwing in the towel unless he gave her something.

But he had no answers, no suggestions. The teenager could only think, in the back of his mind, that he'd grown up. That now… he would have to face the consequences of his actions alone, because she was right. Nothing she did to punish him anymore had its intended effect. His own mother had quit, because he alone had made it impossible for her to do anything to protect him.

Ray Junior had thought before that when this day came, he'd be thrilled. Finally relieved of her almost overbearing presence. He should be jumping for joy, because he'd triumphed over his mother, had finally won the battle of wills they'd engaged in for years.

And yet… only a profound emptiness seemed to fill him.

He was fourteen but now essentially an adult. He was alone, without her to do… whatever it was that she would normally do. And he did not want it, did not like the feeling – instead wanted to climb in her arms and have her make this situation right once more.

But she only turned and began to walk towards her bedroom; oblivious to her son's pain, she had washed her hands clean of what he might do.

Panic began to set in: they'd gone too far. She'd pushed him, and he'd returned the favor, and now they were in territory that he couldn't stand. Ray knew he needed to fix this, needed to get back to where they had been before.

And in his mind, there was only one way to do that. It would suck, like really,_ really_ suck to have to cave, but… what else could he do?

"I was at Todd's house," he said quietly. Part of him wanted to look down at his feet, but stubbornly, he refused to do it, keeping his eyes trained on the back of her head. All so that when she would turn around, he would be looking at her in the eyes. He'd meet her halfway, fine, but he wasn't going to be fucking apologetic – like a five year old who'd broken a vase.

She stopped in mid step before whipping around. Ray Junior didn't think her face looked totally triumphant; she didn't dance around with glee or anything, which made him feel slightly better. But knowing that his mother would, at some point, think that she'd won this fight chapped his ass. Yeah, it was true, but it sucked nonetheless.

"You were at Todd's house," she repeated. The regurgitated words hung in the air for a few moments. And he opened his mouth to speak, but she continued on, "That's where you were."

"Yes," Ray said.

"Doing what?" she asked suspiciously.

"Studying." His response was a little too quick, sounded a little too forced. But he had no intention of letting her in on his project with Todd. Ray Junior might not want her out of his life for good, but… neither did he want her to get involved in _this_; that would just be the kiss of death.

"I didn't realize you knew you how to do that," the brunette quipped.

"Well, obviously… you were wrong."

She raised an eyebrow. "Then why not just admit that to me? Hmm?"

He sighed and came up with the quickest lie he could find. "Because… you don't like Todd, and I just thought… I don't know." An idea popped into his mind, but he knew better than to overdo it. It had to come out slowly. Manipulatively, Ray shifted on his feet, seemingly hesitant.

"All right, look. I didn't… I wasn't going to tell you, because I wanted..." He let his words trail off. And looking into his mother's eyes, he could see it was working. "I wanted to keep it a surprise," he said quickly. "I… I know you were upset when I failed my last test, so I wanted to… I wanted to make it up to you."

She took a step forward. "Really?" Once again, her voice was laced with suspicion. It was just what he wanted.

"Fine," he said angrily. "That's not why I was studying. I didn't want to make it up to you." Ray slung his bag higher on his shoulder to keep it from dropping to the floor. "I _wasn't_ trying to do something nice. I wanted to prove you _wrong." _His voice darkened, and he let just a hint of the truth peak through. "You think I'm so stupid. You think I can't do anything right."

"That's not true, Raymond."

"Yeah, it really is. And you shouldn't try to deny it, Mother, because if it weren't true… then you wouldn't have Uncle Horatio at your beck and call." She shook her head. But he kept talking, because if she opened her mouth and said something, then they'd have to fight over that. Which would only get them further off the point than they were right now. "I'm right so don't even _try _to say otherwise. You think I'm absolutely hopeless, and I just wanted to show you how wrong you are."

Once more, he adjusted the heavy bag on his shoulder; Ray liked to keep everything jammed into one convenient area, so the backpack was heavy, overly burdened with random books and pieces of paper. It was the kind of clutter his mother would hate, which is why he refused to do it any other way.

But at the moment, the teenager had to concede that there was a downside to carrying everything in one bag every day – like the way the black strap of the bag had begun to bite into his skin. If only so he could put the damn backpack down, the brunet was ready for this fight to be over. And so he said, "So can we please get on with it? Ground me, take away my Ipod or my cell phone, whatever."

She sneered. "I didn't realize you were in such a hurry."

"Yeah, well, tight schedule. You know how it is."

"Go to bed," she told him, her words terse and voice tense.

"Gladly," Ray said sarcastically.

He stalked passed her, his hand snatching his door handle. But, when her voice filled the hallway once more, he froze. "I really hope you do prove me wrong."

She said nothing else, but still he waited, listening to the sound of her heels walking down the hallway and ultimately the click of her bedroom door shutting. And as she did so, Raymond couldn't help but whisper, "I hope I do too."

_End (19/??)_


	20. Chapter 19: The Substance of Things

No Other One

Author's Notes: Thanks to all of my readers, but especially to angelgrl31392 and Squeeka Cuomo for reviewing. As always, none of this would be possible without my lovely beta extraordinaire, Olly. I appreciate everything you've done for me more than you know. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

This will be the last chapter I post before the holidays. Personally, I don't mind posting during, but I thought it might be nice to let my beta have a day or two where she isn't enslaved by this giant fic, hehe. New chapters will be up sometime after Christmas. In the meantime, enjoy chapter nineteen and have a happy holiday, everyone.

_Disclaimer: Unless Santa Claus leaves the rights to the show in my stocking, I do not own CSI: Miami. Don't sue me. _

**No Other One  
****Chapter Nineteen: The Substance of Things Hoped For  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

_Just as despair can come to one another only from other human beings, hope, too, can be given to one only by other human beings. – Elie Wiesel _

The Styrofoam cup was warm in his hand, which was really all anyone could hope for from police department-made coffee. Horatio quickly stirred sugar into the not-quite steaming black liquid. Sweetening it to her taste, the redhead smiled in the darkness.

This area of the lab was almost empty, the night shift having filed out to take care of two separate double homicides. Throwing away the red plastic stirrer, the lieutenant couldn't stifle the disbelief making itself known in the back of his mind. It was ridiculous – completely unreasonable – for Rebecca Nevins to be focusing all of her energy on Kyle.

Sure, the teenager had had priors; Horatio wasn't blind to the boy's imperfections. But… there were other criminals out there, people far guiltier than Kyle was. And Rebecca should have been focusing on _them – _not trying to get revenge on her ex-boyfriend through his son.

The redhead worked to push the thought out of his mind. It wouldn't help now to think like this. There was no point in thinking about Rebecca's decision; she'd made up her mind, and he knew there would be no changing it, at least for the moment.

All he could do was fight for his son. Which… standing in front of a coffee pot cursing his ex-girlfriend took away from.

Carefully, Horatio made his way back to his office, where Calleigh sat watching the security tape from the convenience store. It was a long shot, originating in the receipt the redhead had found. There was the definite chance that there wouldn't be anything on the video, but he was determined to find the truth if he could. And the blonde sitting in his leather chair seemed just as intent.

She looked just as exhausted as he felt; Calleigh was watching security tapes with heavy eyes and occasionally twirling her hair. The girlish move was a testament to how much she wanted to sleep, Horatio understood.

But they weren't ready to quit. Not when something could be out there that would either convict or free his son.

"Coffee?" he asked, closing the door behind him; they'd chosen to work here so that they would be unobstructed by the other cases that needed to be handled in the lab. He hadn't realized it before, but in only a few hours, his office had gone from controlled chaos to something that looked like his nephew's bedroom.

Stacks of paper littered his desk. They'd reread the entire original case file, retested (twice – because neither was willing to trust the other's results at first) every sample. There had been, unfortunately, no mistakes, no oversights – _nothing_ for him to pounce on.

So the CSIs had moved onto the evidence they'd collected tonight. And Horatio knew that they would find something. They were close, he could tell, could feel it in his bones.

But the last hours had been a bust. DNA evidence off of the cigarettes proved that the other teenagers, Adam Jackson and Deana Burton, had been at the abandoned house. Which was hardly news, given that the two kids had already confessed to being there.

Fingerprints on the sales receipt also belonged to Adam Jackson. But at least, Horatio thought, trying to remain optimistic, nothing had implicated Kyle further.

Now warmed slightly by the thought, he set the cooling cup of coffee down next to Calleigh.

"Thanks," she said.

"You find anything?"

She took a sip of coffee, her face screwing up slightly at what had to be the horrible taste. "No," she drawled. "The security tapes are all mixed up. I swear – there was a tape with a mall Santa Claus in it."

Horatio sat down on the edge of his desk next to her.

"But," she said, her voice brighter than before, "I've found the tapes from the past week. And I'm searching through them to see if I can get as close to the time on that receipt as possible. So hopefully…"

Calleigh didn't finish the thought, her voice trailing off.

They sat in silence, fast-forwarding through the tape. The security camera only recorded video, which made the process feel even slower. Even though the blonde seemed slightly friendlier, neither C.S.I. were in the mood for conversation. Save for the occasional jerk of the machine they were using, the room was quiet.

It made the redhead feel even more tense. But in a way, that was good, he thought, because it allowed him to focus on the tape. Eagerly, he watched for _something._ And in the quick motions of people coming in and out of the store with bags in their hands, of old people hobbling in the store and children running out, Horatio saw it.

"Wait, wait," he said quickly. And slowly, probably from exhaustion, Calleigh hit the pause button. "Go back."

As she did, the blonde asked him, "You see something?"

But the question went unanswered, didn't need to be. Because when she stopped the tape, at that moment, Calleigh saw it as well.

They both sighed with relief, if for different reasons. For her, it probably only meant that she could go home and sleep soon. But the redhead didn't care, because on the monitor, in grainy black and white, was proof that Horatio _hadn't_ been wrong. That there was more to this case than Kyle being a horrible teen.

The blonde looked over at him, a smile playing on her lips. "Well, at least this hasn't been for nothing." It was, Horatio thought, the closest she would come to apologizing (at least for now, anyway)… not that he really needed her to. It was enough to know that the evidence was _finally_ pointing them in the direction of truth.

"I think we need to take a look at that cell phone," the redhead said, feeling relieved.

Yes, they were finally heading in the right direction.

* * *

He lay on the metal cot waiting.

Maybe it was stupid to think that Horatio would come through. After all, the man didn't exactly seem reliable, but… here Kyle was, waiting… hoping for something to happen. What alternative was there?

Sit and wait to be convicted and carted off to the big house?

His fingers unconsciously continued to pick at the crack in the wall. There were no windows in the tiny cell, but out of the corner of his eye, Kyle could see that there was one down the hall near the guard's station. And coming in through the window were the beginnings of the morning dawn.

He'd spent a whole night in jail, the blond realized. An entire night waiting for his… father to fix things and so far absolutely nothing had happened.

It really _was_ stupid, Kyle knew then, to think that Horatio would do anything. It was one thing to pledge your help but entirely another to actually accomplish something, and the redhead clearly just wasn't interested in going the distance.

He was such an idiot for thinking any differently. Really, he was a fool for believing that anyone in his life would come through for him. After all, hadn't that been his experience up until that point – that no one had ever helped him? Why should he wait around, expecting for things to be different this time?

Closing his eyes, Kyle decided then that he wasn't going to wait any longer.

* * *

When she entered the kitchen that morning, Yelina was shocked to see that Ray Junior was already awake. Even as a baby, her son had been a late sleeper. While other parents bemoaned being woken up at 5:30 by the sounds of cartoons, her own child had always slept later.

It was something that only got worse as he aged. And these days, she knew it required his alarm clock going off at least three separate times _and_ a good number of threats from her to get him out of bed.

But here he was, hunched over a bowl of cheerios.

"You're awake early," she said. Sliding her silver hoop earring in place, the mother closed the distance between them. One of her arms snaked around his upper body. Her hand came to rest on his shoulder, and she pulled him back gently into a hug before kissing the top of his dark curls.

It was with relief that Ray Junior didn't shrug her off. Yelina _hated_ fighting with him, hated thinking that… something might happen, and there wouldn't be any time to apologize. And yet, their arguing seemed to be inevitable, unavoidable, these days.

"Yeah," the boy said noncommittally as he spooned another milky bite of cereal into his mouth. He made a loud slurping sound, shoveling the food in as quickly as possible. But Ray Junior wasn't fast enough to stop the thin trail of white liquid from meandering down his chin and landing on the sleeve of Yelina's suit jacket.

She groaned, untangling herself from her son. This was absolutely _not_ what she needed today. Not when she had to sit in front of a panel and explain her year in Rio. Hurrying, the brunette dampened a towel and worked quickly to make sure the milk wouldn't stain her white suit.

Seemingly unaware, Ray Junior continued to devour his breakfast.

"If I hadn't painstakingly taught you table manners, I would think you'd been raised by wolves," she said, frowning.

He shrugged. "You act like there's a difference." Narrowing her eyes on him, Yelina could see the smile forming around the spoon in his mouth. She chucked the yellow tea towel at his face, which Ray caught easily. "Nice, Mom," he said sarcastically

Truth be told, the brunette was grateful for the change of pace. Lately they'd fought so much that Yelina had almost forgotten how _easy_ it could be. Her son still had a mouth, but that seemed almost inevitable. How could she have ever been foolish enough to think her child would turn out any different? And there was no malice in it, at least not right now, so the mother turned her attention to pouring herself a glass of orange juice.

She didn't dare eat anything, was convinced she'd vomit before her interview if she did. There was so much to account for, so much that she would have to answer for, and Yelina was more nervous now than when she'd originally been hired.

Eventually, Ray Junior turned to look at her. He frowned at her appearance. "You're wearing white," he said negatively. She glanced down to look at herself, trying to see what he saw that was so horrible about her outfit. But everything seemed okay to her. Before she could say anything though, the teenager explained, "You're wearing white, and you're crying over some spilt milk that a person couldn't even _see."_

"One day," Yelina started to say, as she took a seat at the kitchen table. "You will understand that cleanliness isn't just about what you can see."

"Whatever," he muttered, turning his attention to a stack of papers next to his cereal bowl.

Yelina knew she should tell him then that she was going to try and get her old job back. But as she sipped her juice, it was harder than she had originally imagined it would be.

And the mother wasn't exactly sure why that was, because Ray Junior had never really liked the idea of her being a private investigator either. But she doubted that he would be thrilled over this. Because she could hardly argue that being a detective was _that_ much safer. Not with their family history anyway.

But there was no point in avoiding it, the brunette knew. If she did get the job, Yelina wouldn't be able to hide it from her son. Preventing a fight now might make her feel better, but in the end, they_ would_ argue over this. Better to tell him now so that it would at least_ look_ like he'd had a say.

"You're staring at me," he complained, turning a page.

She took another sip of orange juice before setting the glass down gently. One of her manicured fingers swirled around the top of the cup. "I have a meeting today." Ray looked up at her expectantly. She hadn't expected to pique his interest, and now that the brunette had done so, it made her nervous. "With I.A.B," Yelina said eventually.

He didn't say anything at first. Rather, his hands picked up his bowl and quickly slurped down the milk. Plunking the bowl back down, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "So you're trying to get your job back," Ray said.

"Yes," Yelina told him quietly. She waited for the argument to come. Her body tensed at the yelling that was bound to occur, but… it didn't come.

Instead, Ray Junior stood up, his chair scraping against the tile floor. Grabbing his bowl, he put it in the sink.

"You're… not yelling," she said, her eyebrow arched in confusion.

"Did you expect me to?"

The brunette sat there, frozen. Her son had never been a quiet baby; he'd never taken the high road. And when he disagreed with something, Ray Junior was _always_ willing to let anyone and everyone know. "Uh… yes. Yes, Ray, I did."

"Why are you investigating one of Dad's old girlfriends?"

It was a question that seemed to have come from nowhere, and Yelina had no idea how to respond. She licked her lips, tucked a stray curl behind her ear, because she needed time to see where this was going. But she couldn't stall forever. And finally, the brunette gave in, asking, "What do you mean?"

"In these papers… one of Dad's old girlfriends is named. And you have them, so I want to know why?" Ray walked back to the table, grabbing the papers he'd been looking at and set them down in front of her.

She recognized them immediately; they were the contents of the file she gotten only hours previously. But Yelina still didn't understand how Raymond's sex life could be brought into this… though part of her thought angrily that her husband's proclivities often came to her attention in the oddest of circumstances.

"Your uncle asked me to investigate a teenager. I did some background on his family." The brunette looked up at her son. "How does your father fit into this?"

"I told you. One of his ex-girlfriends is –"

"And who would that be?" she asked.

"Julia Alvarez."

The question that had been plaguing her finally went answered. It was as though some part of her mind had been lit up with an ancient memory.

Her husband had always been an open person, to a fault even. Before he'd become lost in the drugs, Ray had regularly confided in her; she was his spouse but so much more. His wounds splayed out for her to tend to, he had called her his demon slayer. Equal parts avenger, lover, and mother, Yelina had worked so hard to help him overcome his past.

Looking back at that time now, the brunette could see that nearly everything had worked against them. She'd never really been in the position to help him; she wasn't an expert, didn't know how to deal with half the situations he'd talked to her about. But more than that, Yelina could see now that too many times, his revelations had been intended to hurt her… or to make her stay.

It was a pattern she'd been unable to see at the time, but there could be no denying it now. When the brunette had sided with Horatio over some… procedure decades ago, Ray had told her how his parents died. He had told her the truth then, not because he was in pain, but because he wanted to make his brother seem evil, undesirable.

And Julia Alvarez… Ray's ex-girlfriend had been brought up shortly after a random convict had hit on her. That particular day, he had said, "I picked up your dry cleaning, sweetheart, and by the way, I ran into Julia Alvarez, you know – the woman I lost my virginity to – earlier today, so we had lunch together."

Even now, despite the fact that her husband was dead, it irritated her. She shouldn't be jealous, she understood. After all, Raymond Caine was hardly a prize in the spouse department. And… frankly, if someone had wanted to take him off her hands in the last year of their marriage, Yelina would have gladly welcomed it.

It made no sense, that the sudden jolt of envy should course through her body. But here she was, ready and willing to fight for her husband.

"Mom."

The sound of Ray Junior's voice quickly snapped her out of her thoughts. "Hmm?"

"Dad's not in trouble, is he?" He was desperately trying to sound cool, she could tell. But there was concern pooling in his dark brown eyes. And her jealousy had a new target now.

Her idiotic husband.

He'd left them both, too afraid of going to prison; he had let everyone think that he was dead. And yet, Ray Junior was _still_ his little boy. Her husband had disappeared for years to let her raise their son alone, had only reappeared because he had been _forced_ into it. And still…

She bit down on her lip to stop herself from saying something horribly cruel. Because it was wrong, she knew, to say anything about it to Ray Junior. It was in some ways, her own fault, that their son still worshiped his father. She'd been so frustrated and appalled at the rumors of Ray's disloyalty that she'd blanketed her son in myth and outright lies.

But that didn't make it any easier to take. And right now, as she was about to go before the firing squad for her son, he could only think about his father, and it _hurt. _"Honey, nothing is going on with your father," Yelina said as reassuringly as possible.

"Then why are you researching one of his –"

"I'm not, Ray. This has absolutely nothing to do with your father. And on the off chance that it did, do you really think that _I_ would –"

"Don't even," he snapped. "You want to get your old job back? Fine. But don't think that I don't know how you're going to do it." Opening the white refrigerator door, Ray Junior snatched a soda before slamming it shut. "You're gonna sell out Dad to do it. So don't act like you'd _never_ do something like that." Snatching his book bag up from the back of his chair, the teenager said, "Don't forget. I was in Rio too."

He stormed off, and Yelina didn't have the heart to go after him. Because there was nothing she could say at the moment that he'd believe. And frankly, Ray Junior wasn't all that wrong; she _was_ going to tell them whatever they wanted to know about her husband. But the mother thought that this was a small price to pay in order to have a job that offered her some small measure of protection. Somehow, she knew Ray wasn't going to see it the same way.

Because he was Daddy's little boy through and through. And if she could do everything she had done for her son over the years and _still_ have him think so little of her… was there really anything she could say that would convince him?

_End (20/??)_


	21. Chapter 20: Sticky Questions

Author's Notes: Okay, back from my brief hiatus, and I hope everyone had a happy holidays and a fantastic new year. Thanks again to angelgrl31392 for the review. And an extra large THANK YOU goes out to my beta, Olly, without whom none of this would be possible.

_Disclaimer: I don't own the show. Don't sue. _

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Twenty: Sticky Questions**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_Civilized men are more discourteous than savages because they know they can be impolite without having their skulls split, as a general thing." – Robert E. Howard _

"Yelina."

Closing the door behind her, the brunette was shocked. She'd been under the impression that this meeting would involve several members of IAB, the chief of police, and anyone else who was interested in her year in Rio. But now, at the police department, Yelina could see that only one person had shown up. And it was the last person in the world she wanted to question her about anything.

Rick Stetler.

He sat perched on the long wooden table in the center of the room. His legs dangling off the edge, irritation radiating off all of his features, he instantly made her feel uneasy.

Had Rick aged at all, she thought this meeting might go more smoothly. But instead, her ex looked as potently handsome as he always had. Her eyes roaming over him, she could see that he still looked as fit as he had two years ago. And inwardly, the brunette cursed her traitorous mind for thinking that he still looked _so_ good.

Especially after everything that had happened between them both, it seemed wrong to think it. Stetler was rude, lecherous, _cruel_ – that's what she should be reminding herself, Yelina knew. She thought she should be able to look at him and only see the bad, but… she couldn't entirely, which she hated herself for.

The last time she'd seen him, they'd been fighting. And Yelina doubted that he was interested in hiring her back, making this whole interview seem like a waste of time.

Her mouth felt dry, and she nervously ran her tongue along her teeth. Maybe they were waiting for everyone else to arrive? It seemed ridiculous that they would meet here and not his office, if it was only going to be the two of them.

She took a few steps into the room. "Rick," she said tersely. Her accent was thicker than she wanted, thanks to her emotions, so she decided small sentences were best. When he said nothing, she asked him, "Where is everyone else?"

He stood up. "This was supposed to be a full-out meeting. But… well, it turns out… _they_ don't have a problem rehiring you."

Yelina thought that this should provide her with some relief, but all it did was make her feel even more unsure. "But you do?" she asked, reading between his lines.

He moved closer to her, putting his hands on his hips. "I think they would too, if they could get past some of your…" His voice trailed off as he looked her over lasciviously. "More obvious attributes," Stetler emphasized. It made her skin crawl, the way she felt like a piece of meat, but the brunette stubbornly refused to show her discomfort.

"Glad to see you have," she drawled, her tone cool.

Rick opened his mouth, seemingly ready to say more on the subject. But instead he turned away from her. After a moment, he told her, "As I am the only one with objections, it seemed ridiculous to involve the rest of the board." The bitterness in his Southern accent was noticeable.

"So it's going to just be you and me," the brunette realized.

He spun around to face her once more. "See, that's what I always liked about you: your mind. Nothing ever got passed you," he said sarcastically.

She frowned. As much as she could handle the back and forth, as much as she was tempted to say something equally horrible, Yelina knew that this was getting them nowhere. "Let's just get this over with, hmm?"

They both took seats at the large wooden table, and it was then that the brunette saw he'd come prepared. In front of Rick were a steno pad filled with yellow-tinted paper and several ball point pens laying in a neat line. His large fingers clasped around one of the pens, but he didn't start writing right away. "I should warn you," he started in a tone that hardly seemed caring or concerned. "Since you've left, rules have changed."

Yelina leaned forward. "All right."

"Inter-departmental fraternization." It sounded so innocent, really, and if she were an outsider, the brunette thought that his meaning would have been lost. But the intent in his eyes, nor his aim behind his words, was lost on _her._ And for a moment, she almost had to laugh at how little he'd changed in the time they had been separated.

"What you mean to say is: 'if I hire you back, Yelina, you can't fulfill my paranoid delusions about your brother-in-law.' Isn't that right, Rick?"

He smirked. "We both know there's nothing paranoid or delusional about that. Which is why I'm warning you. If everything goes well, though I don't think that will happen… you can pine after Horatio Caine or you can work here. You can't do both."

Leaning back in her chair, Yelina nodded her head. "I have no intention of doing both."

That wasn't a lie, she thought. Of course she… _liked_ her brother-in-law, but the brunette knew that he would probably never be comfortable with his own attraction for her. And so until Horatio made the first move, which he never would now that it was against department policy, what could she do? In her heart, Yelina wished that there was still hope, wished there was now reason to lie, but… she knew better.

"Good. Then let's get started." He started writing, the sound of the pen scratching against the paper filling the air. "In May 2005, you filed a claim for early retirement, correct?"

"No, I did not," she said. "Horatio did that."

"But you _did_ take early retirement, did you not?" Rick asked testily.

"Yes." Mentally, Yelina wondered how long this would take, given that they couldn't even get through the simplest of questions without doing_this. _

"And you spent the proceeding year in Brazil with your husband?" He wasn't even trying to make it sound horrible, but the brunette couldn't help but think that it all seemed so… carefree and foolish.

"Yes, I did," she merely said.

"The same husband who everyone believed to be dead?"

She scowled at him. "_Yes."_

Rick said nothing at first, sat there silently, thinking. Eventually, he used the index finger of his free hand to scratch his head. "So… did you know Ray Caine was alive or –"

"Of course not," she snapped. The brunette angrily pushed a curl behind her ear. "I thought he was dead – _of course_, I didn't know."

He said, "okay," but in that way he so often talked, like he didn't believe her at all. "Let's move on…"

"No. No, we're not moving on until you understand. I did _not_ know that he was alive." She leaned forward in her chair. "If I had known…"

Her voice trailed off, and Yelina was unable to finish the thought. For Ray Junior's sake, she had put aside her feelings of betrayal in Rio. Or at least, she had done that as much as anyone could. But now, it all seemed to bubble to the surface, and she could not deny just how much it _killed_ her to know that her husband had put her through such hell.

Shaking her head, her curls sliding over her shoulders, Yelina said, "I… really did believe he was dead. Maybe I should have known," she admitted, the bitterness firmly infusing itself in her voice. "But I didn't think for a _second_ that Ray would do something like that. I had no idea, Rick." Their eyes met, and she could see that, behind the almost onyx irises, sympathy was beginning to filter through.

She jumped at the opportunity. "As much as you may despise me now… you _know_ I wouldn't have let my husband do that to my son. I would _not_ have let him leave."

Rick didn't say anything at first, just watched her. Finally, he sighed and nodded his head. "Yeah. All right." And this time, he seemed convinced or at least had enough sense to keep his disbelief from her.

But then, suddenly, he reached out to her, gently grasping her hand with his own. "I believe you," Stetler said.

The warm touch made her feel so… ambivalent. Having dated the man, Yelina was very aware of how he could be. He could be soft and sympathetic, much like he was right now. And she couldn't help but be attracted to him in those moments.

But there was that _other_ side of him, and the brunette thought that it was wrong to still see the good qualities in him after everything that had happened. He could be so cruel; only _minutes_ before he'd shown a little bit of that facet. His thumb slowly dragged along the back of her hand, and Yelina wished she hated it.

Based on the way he treated her, the touch _should_ have burned, should have made her skin crawl. But it didn't, and she despised herself for it. How desperate was she for affection if Stetler seemed like a logical choice?

The brunette refused to let her mind answer the question.

Thankfully the moment was over just as quickly as it had begun. Pulling his hand back, he cleared his throat. "Let's move on," he told her.

Eager to do just that, Yelina nodded her head. She'd prepared herself to relive her time with her husband. But… her relationship with Rick was something she hadn't even remotely thought about.

They didn't work well together; for the most part, they _hated_ one another.

So how had he, with a single touch, made her think differently?

_End (21/??)_


	22. Chapter 21: Proactive

No Other One

Author's Note: Thanks to lt2, Tigerkat51, RedHot, and CokeFreak for the wonderful reviews. Some of you were worried about Stetler, but please don't be. In the story description, I said there would be HY romance in the future, and I definitely plan on keeping to that. But I'm a big believer in the idea that the journey is just as important, if not more so, than the destination, and there's a LOT that needs to happen before Horatio and Yelina get together. So for now, Stetler stays, hehe.

Thanks to my beta, Olly, for the wonderful proofreading job. Your input means the world to me.

As always reviews are love.

Disclaimer: I don't own the show. Don't sue.

**No Other One  
****Chapter Twenty-One: Proactive  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_It is curious - curious that physical courage should be so common in the world, and moral courage so rare" – Mark Twain_

"Listen to this," Calleigh said, hitting a button on the cell phone before handing it to Horatio.

The plastic was warm in his hand as he held it up to his ear. Horatio tried to listen patiently as a cool, choppy female voice read him options of what he could do with the messages. He shifted impatiently in his chair. As the digital woman asked him if he wanted to listen to his new messages, the redhead asked Calleigh, "What am I supposed to hear?"

But almost immediately, the phone started to play old voice mails, and Horatio held up his hand to stop the blonde from talking. And though he was busy listening to the various messages being played, he was sure that he saw Calleigh roll her eyes.

The first voice that carried through the phone was one the redhead had come to know all too well.

Kyle.

"Hey, man, it's me…" And Horatio could feel his stomach tying itself into knots, the pit of him dreading what might come next. He'd wanted his son to be innocent – or as innocent as anyone could be in a crime, and if Kyle was guilty, was truly the mastermind behind this, then what?

Horatio would have been wrong, would have wasted Calleigh's time, as well as his own. And there'd be no way to keep his son out of prison.

"I staked out the house like you wanted," Kyle said, and Horatio felt as though someone had kicked him in the stomach. "I… I'll do it." The voice on the phone seemed to hesitate as a lengthy pause followed, before the boy said, "But you better hold up your end of the deal. I help you; you don't tell them about Deana and me… Call me back."

As the female voice asked Horatio what he wanted to do with the message, the redhead replayed the brief one-ended conversation in his head.

It was a relief, and he relaxed a little in his chair. If the message could be trusted as accurate, then it would mean that Kyle _wasn't_ the one behind the crime. It certainly didn't sound that way, in any case. And more to the point, Horatio had heard the hesitation, could sense that the teenager was reluctant about it. Yes, the boy had gone through with the kidnapping anyway, but…

Unless Horatio was completely hearing this wrong, it meant he'd at least _questioned_ whether or not harming the Gannon woman was the right thing to do. And even if the boy had come to the wrong conclusion, that Kyle had recognized that there might be a conflict here was promising, the redhead thought. It meant that _maybe_ there was hope. That maybe the teenager wasn't beyond redemption.

And it definitely meant that Rebecca Nevins was wrong, and Horatio knew that unless they stopped her witch-hunt in its infancy, Kyle _would_ be put in jail… and lost to him forever.

Horatio quickly hit a button on the phone to replay the message. He wanted to make sure he wasn't hearing things wrong, _needed_ to know that he wasn't putting the interpretation he wanted to hear onto the actual conversation.

And though Calleigh didn't return the smile, the redhead couldn't help but grin at her when he realized that he _hadn't_ misinterpreted.

"Listen to the next message," the blonde sitting across from him instructed.

Almost immediately, dread filled him again, and Horatio thought he might get sick. It would be just his luck to think that they might be in the clear and have something dash those hopes. So he waited for the next message to start, his body tensing once more. The computerized female voice stopped talking, and he clenched his jaw, _praying _that this wouldn't be his undoing.

"Listen to me, you little punk," an angry male voice sneered out. "You want your coke, then you're going to do exactly what I told you to do. I don't care if you think your guy is going to flip! You do it. You find a way to make it work, and you fucking do it."

And with a loud smack from the earpiece, the message was over.

"That voice sounds familiar, don't you think?" Calleigh asked him teasingly.

Horatio mulled it over in his mind, trying to remember the voices of everyone associated with this case. It was too deep to belong to any of the teenagers. Which left only one person.

"We'll have to run it through voice recognition software, but I think we've met him before."

The redhead nodded his head and said, "I guess that's one way to get rid of your wife."

And for the first time since she'd learned the truth, Calleigh smiled at him.

* * *

"Did you have sex with your husband?"

Whatever feelings had begun to bud within her were promptly dashed at the question.

Rick had already asked her at least half a dozen questions – when did she realize Ray might be alive? Did Horatio know? Did Ray ever try to contact her? Why did she come back? They were things Yelina had tried to answer as best as she could, but this latest question was too much.

And he sat there, honestly expecting an answer, as though it were a perfectly normal question. There was no shame in his eyes, no hint of remorse in his body posture.

She narrowed her eyes on him. "How is that relevant?"

"Part of being a cop is taking a proactive approach to _stopping_ crime," Rick explained in his most condescending voice.

"And my sex life comes in… where exactly?"

He shifted in his chair and gave her a sympathetic smile, but Yelina could tell that it was all for show.

"Just answer the question."

She bit down on the inside of her cheek, willing herself to keep her anger in check. "Not until you tell me why I have to."

"All right," he conceded. "You wanna act like you were forced into this situation, then we don't have a problem. If you tried to stop Ray from breaking the law, great. But if you two were having sex…"

"Then I was somehow complicit in what he was doing?" She folded her arms across her chest.

"Maybe," Stetler told her. "I just… want to understand the nature of your relationship."

"I won't tell you that."

"You will. If you want your job."

She looked away from him. As much as Yelina wanted this job… this was almost a deal breaker.

But weighing heavily in the back of her mind was Kyle Harmon from the case file. He'd lost his mother, and from there, his life had gone downhill. The brunette didn't want to talk about her sex life – especially not with Stetler – but what choice did she have really?

Running her tongue along her teeth, she finally answered him, hesitantly, quietly, "Yes."

"You're telling me you had sex with your husband."

She glared at him. "_Yes._"

Making a note in his steno pad, Rick said, "I see."

Her hands curled into fists against her sides. If it weren't for the fact that PI work was more dangerous, Yelina would walk out. Or rather, she corrected mentally, if it weren't for the fact that jail didn't suit her, she'd kill the man sitting across from her.

"Would you say… you had sex with him often?"

"No," she said through gritted teeth.

"Really?" he asked in disbelief. "Because as I recall, _Ellie_, you weren't exactly a pru—"

Yelina snapped, 'That's nice, Rick. _Thank you._" He continued to write on the yellow paper in front of him.

"And…" he, searching for the right words, gestured in the air with the pen in his hand. "And when exactly did you become intimate?"

This day, she decided, couldn't get any worse. First her son and his accusations – and now this bizarre attempt at an interrogation... no, today wasn't going to get any worse. It couldn't.

"Don't worry," Stetler attempted to soothe in the coolest way possible. "I don't need exact dates. A ballpark will do."

"I don't know," she gritted out.

"How long after we broke up, do you think?" The way he said it, so casually, made it almost seem like a completely reasonable question. And she could tell that he was trying to make it sound as though this was professional. But she knew better.

"So that's what this is about?" she asked angrily.

"I'm merely trying to give you a time frame."

Yelina shook her head. "No, you're not." She stood up, having had enough of his ridiculous questions. Yes, the brunette wanted her job back. But he was in no position to be the one in charge of that decision. He'd clearly demonstrated that now.

Stetler stood up as well, pushing his seat away from him. It wasn't sudden, nor was it violent. And, in the very least, he was smart enough to know better than to try something here. However, Yelina couldn't help but notice how redoubtable he could be.

But even while knowing that she shouldn't push him… _she'd_ been pushed too far by him to stop. "This isn't about my complacency in my marriage," she said. "This is about _you."_

"Yeah, it is," he snapped. "It _is_ about me."

"Well, I'm sorry you're upset that I…" Her voice trailed off, looking for the words she wanted. But when she _wanted_ to say, "Sorry I didn't kill you when I had the change," it was hard to find something else to say. "That I... moved on so soon after we broke up," Yelina eventually settled for, not feeling even remotely apologetic. "But _that_ has nothing to do with this."

"Of course, it does," Rick countered. He stalked towards her, and she pulled herself up to her full height. The brunette had no plans on backing down and wouldn't do so. But even at her tallest, with heels, Yelina was still shorter than Stetler. And part of her was tempted to step away from him, because he could easily hurt her if he wanted to.

But the stubborn part of her refused, would not let him win, and so she held her ground.

"Listen to me, Yelina." His voice lacked volume, but there was no missing the dangerous edge that flitted through his tones. "You wanna pretend like my opinion of you means nothing, then go ahead. But right here, right _now_, it does." He took a step closer to her, though his eyes seemed slightly softer. "And you _know_ it does. So… you want your job back – then _stop_ acting like this is a personal affront."

"Even though it is, you mean." She folded her arms across her chest, challenging him.

He smirked. "All right, I'll clarify." Making eye contact with her, Stetler said, "Stop acting like this is _merely_ an attack."

"Those questions have absolutely no professional basis."

"Yes, they do, Yelina. They _do. _You want your job, then you prove to me that the other men and women in the field can trust you to do your job. Prove that you won't pack up your things and run away every time a Caine crosses your path."

"I am a good cop," she tried to argue.

He shook his head. "You _were_ a good cop. And then your husband came back, and you threw that out the window, didn't you?"

The accusation seemed to ring out in the near empty room. Yelina could hear, vaguely, a conversation going on in the hallway, but it felt incredibly far away. Felt like, if Stetler decided to push things, there would be no one around to help her. It had been a long time since she'd been in this position, but the brunette could tell her ex was almost shaking with anger.

Of course, the same could be said for her. Looking at him now, Yelina wanted nothing more than to hit him. No, she mentally corrected; she wanted to _maim_ him. Her blood practically sang for his.

But she forcefully worked to stifle the desire, because in the back of her mind, the mother knew that this job was too important. Fighting with Stetler might make her happy temporarily, but it would do little to help her pay her bills.

She thought of her son. This was for him, and that was all that mattered.

Taking a deep breath, Yelina tried to be as calm as possible. She wasn't going to kill Stetler... not today anyway, and this had to be done. Fighting it wouldn't help, and the sooner she answered his questions, the sooner this would be over.

"You make it sound as though I had a choice," she said, her voice marred with pain, which she hated.

"You didn't?" Stetler asked in disbelief.

She shrugged. "I'm at the airport, and my son sees his father and runs to him." Shifting on her heels, Yelina looked him in the eyes and asked, "What was I supposed to do? Walk away like it had never happened? Call the FBI and have them _arrest_ my husband? What would you have me do, Rick?"

He rubbed his chin with his index finger. "Well, I don't know," the dark-haired man said sarcastically. "Everyone around here seems to think Horatio is a god. Why not ask your brother-in-law for help?"

Yelina couldn't help but shift on her feet at that moment, her heels clicking slightly on the hard flooring. There was no doubt in her mind that if she told Rick the truth, he wouldn't rest until the redhead was held accountable for it. But as she opened her mouth to lie, to protect Horatio, Stetler interrupted.

"Ah, I get it now," he said. "He _knew."_

"How do you figure?" she asked carefully.

He smirked. "Because I've seen you protect him so many times, Yelina." His fingers gently caught a loose curl and tucked it behind her ear. And the brunette thought it would have been a sweet gesture if she didn't know that he was aware of the fact that her ears turned red when she lied. "You think I don't know when you're doing that?"

She shrugged him off. "I'm not protecting him." She didn't even want to think what color her ears had morphed into. And over his protestations, Yelina added, "The simple fact of the matter is that… Horatio would not have been particularly helpful. He…" Sighing, she searched for the right words. "He loved his brother, and Horatio has and always will place Ray above –" No that didn't sound right, so she changed directions. "I wasn't going to put him in the position of choosing between arresting his brother or letting us go." Looking away from Rick, the brunette said quietly, "No one should be put in that position."

It sounded convincing enough, she though. Particularly the last part.

But Stetler didn't seem persuaded. "You know, it almost amazes me how much you're willing to do for him." Her eyes slid over to him, and she watched, as he appeared to hesitate in a way that seemed so uncharacteristic. "Sometimes, I wonder what he would have to do to make you hate him."

"You know something," Yelina half-whispered in dawning realization. And there could be no doubt that he was definitely hesitating now. "What do you know?"

Rick turned away from her, grabbing his steno pad and pens. "Nothing," he said. "I think we're done here."

It was so abrupt and not like him at all.

"What aren't you telling me?" she asked, this time her turn to be suspicious.

Sticking the pens in his jacket pocket, Rick sighed and told her, "You know… I hope you never find out, Ellie."

"But there is something I should know."

He chuckled derisively. "Of course there is!" Dropping the pad of paper back down on the table, Rick said, "It amazes me how everyone in this building thinks Horatio is so… perfect."

"I don't."

"No?" he asked, moving towards her once more. "I _know_ you do. You defend him, even after everything he's done to you."

"Rick, just tell me what you know." But he shook his head, making her feel increasingly frustrated.

"You wanna know, then you're going to have to talk to him." Snatching up the steno pad once more, Stetler looked at her again and said honestly, "I really hope you don't, though. For your own sake." Opening the door, he said, "We're done here."

Yelina raised an eyebrow, wondering what exactly was going on. Rick was hardly a cryptic man, and he had never protected Horatio from anything. But here he was, refusing to answer her question, and that worried her. It either meant that her ex was messing around with her mind – not an unusual thing for him to do – or what he knew about Horatio was bad.

But the brunette couldn't imagine what Stetler might know about her brother-in-law. True, the redhead had been acting rather… bizarre, wound tight, but if there were something she should know, he would have told her by now. He wouldn't keep her in the dark…

Right?

The question niggled, but she forced it aside. Even if Rick did know something, it was doubtful that she could force the stubborn man to tell her the truth.

Licking her lips, she asked as Rick held the door open for her to walk through, "And the job?"

Once more, he seemed to hesitate before saying, "You'll have to fill out some paperwork – pass a few tests – but other than that, I guess... it's yours." She was sure that he was going to say no and couldn't stop her manicured eyebrow from arching upward. "Truth be told," he said, "nothing you've said has convinced me of anything."

"Then you're hiring me because…"

"I don't know," Rick told her honestly. "Maybe I think you're a good cop"

"You don't," she countered. "Since I walked in the door, you –"

"Shut up," he snapped back. There was a moment of silence, heated by her irritation. Finally, he told her, "I was... just playing devil's advocate."

"Self-representation then – how unlike you."

The man standing in front of her smiled at the joke, but he didn't take the bait. And Yelina knew it either meant he'd given up on fighting, which was unlikely, or he was trying to find a new way to get to her, which was entirely possible.

But his words were softer, gentler, spoken in an honest voice that she hadn't heard in so long. "Maybe I like you."

"You think I'm weak-willed and in love with someone you hate. You don't like me."

He nodded his head in concession. "I hate you less than I'd like."

"I know," Yelina told him quietly. It was a feeling she was all too familiar with.

"You _are _weak. And you _are_ in love with Horatio. But I knew that when I first asked you out, didn't I?" His hand gripped the door frame angrily, the knuckles nearly turning white. She watched him closely but didn't push. The irritation she had felt so keenly from earlier seemed to only mildly burn witin her. And, as Rick looked like there was something he wanted to say, Yelina decided to wait him out.

"I hate you, but I know you're... an adequate detective – better than some of the other losers the department has hired since you left," he confessed. "Bringing you back makes my job easier. And I do despise you, but at the same time..." His voice trailed off, but the dark-haired man quickly screwed up his courage. "You're a challenge, and I like that. And maybe I want you here so –"

"So you can _conquer_ me?" she asked, the innuendo oozing in her voice.

The grin breaking out on his face was hardly forced. "Oh, I've done that a few times before. I can give you a refresher if you want..."

But his good mood didn't last long, his face quickly going back to neutral. "Part of me knows hiring you is a disaster waiting to happen. Your brother-in-law will do something, and you'll protect him you always do, and _I _will see you every day and remember how pretty you are and..." Rick didn't finish the thought.

"Another part of me wants you here because… when you _do_ learn the truth about Horatio, I want to be around to see how miserable it makes you."

She nodded her head, all the while mentally rolling her eyes, and followed him out. It hadn't been the response she'd been expecting; having been lied to so many times by so many people, sometimes his honesty made her feel as though she'd been dumped into a bucket of cold water. His response was truthful, surprising but one that Yelina could understand… at least when it came to this relationship.

The brunette had never doubted his love for her. As much as she knew Rick liked to rub it in Horatio's face, she'd never gotten the impression that they were dating solely to upset her brother-in-law. He genuinely was interested in her, that much Yelina was always aware of.

But at the same time, Rick… hated certain things about her. Just in the same way that she truly despised him for so many reasons. At the best of times, their relationship could be described as volatile, and even that didn't seem to capture the constant threat both of their tempers posed. And though Yelina would have liked to hear that he thought she was a good cop, his reaction was one she could understand. He wasn't sure if he wanted to help or hurt her, much in the same way they couldn't decide whether or not they loved or hated one another.

He felt ambivalent, but at least it was familiar territory for them both, she conceded.

On the other hand, this… supposed secret of Horatio's made her nervous. The sister-in-law knew he kept things hidden, that he refused to reveal the darker parts of himself to anyone. How could anyone miss that, she wondered, and Rick was wrong to think that she was unaware.

But the way Stetler was talking… it almost sounded as though he knew of something specific. Perhaps this was just revenge, she told herself. Maybe Rick was merely trying to make her upset and stir up trouble. That wasn't entirely out of character for him.

And yet… in her heart, she _knew_ that this was more than insinuation and lies. Even if she hadn't noticed Horatio's strange behavior as of late, Yelina _did_ know Rick. She knew all of his little quirks, and this didn't seem like a lie. Behind his dark brown eyes, she had seen the truth shining in them.

Which made her wonder…

What exactly was Horatio hiding?

_End (22/??)_


	23. Chapter 22: Dawn

No Other One

Author's Notes: Thank you to RedHotLover and Shining Zephyr for the reviews. I really do appreciate all comments I get; they let me know that I'm not just writing this for myself/driving my beta insane.

Olly – Thank you for everything you do – for reading all of my words and making helpful comments to telling me that this fic is better than I think it is. And especially for helping me polish all the scenes with Calleigh. Without you, this fic would be a disaster.

Reading/reviewing is love.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Don't sue me.

**No Other One  
****Chapter Twenty-Two: Dawn  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all." – Richard Wright_

They were both exhausted by now, having worked straight through the night. And in addition to the stacks of lab reports and police files sitting on Horatio's desk, hours old Styrofoam coffee cups now joined their ranks. In what seemed like ages ago, the two CSIs had given up on the caffeinated beverage to keep them awake.

Now, they didn't even stop to refill their fake mugs or to use the bathroom. Calleigh had holed herself up in the room with him for hours, only leaving twenty minutes ago to use the voice recognition software. They needed sleep, probably needed showers, and the redhead could feel his stomach twisting itself desperately. But they hadn't stopped and, while it was unsaid, would _keep _going until their case was solid.

Horatio wasn't sure about her, but he was almost afraid to close his eyes for a few hours, didn't want to take his attention away from the case for a second. The end seemed to be in sight, and he was desperate to finish this. At least that was how he felt. And if Calleigh thought differently, the blonde hadn't let him know; she appeared to be just as determined as he was.

Perhaps anyone else would have given up. But for Horatio, there seemed to be something… healing in all of it. He hadn't been there for his son when the boy had really needed him. But in doing this, perhaps, the redhead thought, he was redeeming himself… not completely, naturally, but a little bit. And maybe, if he were really lucky, Kyle would look at this effort and see that Horatio really did want to help his son.

And it wasn't just that. Things with Calleigh had healed quickly, though perhaps imperfectly. The redhead wouldn't say that everything was back to the way it was before she learned the truth. But at least, she no longer looked at him murderously when she thought he wasn't looking.

More than that, though, she'd left him alone with the evidence. Perhaps there was no real risk in doing so, as almost everything in the room with the redhead had already been analyzed. The only item left to finish up was the cell phone, which meant he had the not-so-fun task of going through the cell phone and Gannon phone logs, looking for matches. It was dull work, and Horatio thought that there wasn't really a way for him to tamper with it – which was why Calleigh wasn't actually taking a risk by leaving him here with the logs.

Still, it wasn't lost on him: the blonde easily could have barred him from the room while she analyzed the contents of the voice mail they'd found. If only to prove a point, Calleigh could have humiliated him by forcing him to tag along or making him sit outside the door. That she chose not to gave Horatio some hope.

Even if it didn't mean she'd completely forgiven him, it, at least, felt like a step in the right direction.

Feeling slightly bolstered, he looked back down at the phone logs in his hands. For something that was little more than a series of numbers and names, Horatio thought that it was taking him an inordinate amount of time to read through it.

His blue eyes scanned through the list, searching. For the second time, he found the Gannon phone number on this particular page. His fingers eagerly snatching the yellow highlighter on his desk, Horatio went to mark the logged call. But as he pressed the pen onto the paper, the redhead belatedly realized that he had started to highlight the wrong entry.

He sighed before correctly marking the right line on the page. Capping the highlighter once more and placing it back on his desk, the lieutenant rubbed his bleary eyes with the back of his hands. His cool knuckles pressed into his eyelids, making him see spots.

Horatio was exhausted, and he couldn't wait for this to be over. But if it required staying up for several more days, the redhead would do that. Because, even if Kyle wasn't his son, he couldn't let Rebecca punish this teenager. And that's what she was doing, he knew; this wasn't so much about the crime, but about sending a message to him.

She didn't like to be jerked around.

But then again, neither did he, and Horatio _was_ going to show her that she didn't have the right to punish his family for things beyond their control; regardless of how guilty Kyle might be, it didn't sit well with the redhead that the boy should be punished for things that Horatio had done.

With renewed purpose, he flipped to the next page and began scanning the list once more.

When he'd gotten midway through the page, the door jerked open. "It's a match," Calleigh said, her southern voice brightening up his dark office even before she'd entered the room.

Relief filled him, and for the first time in the last several hours, Horatio breathed easily. Exhaling loudly, he turned to her and smiled as she slapped the results down in front of him. "Using the tape made from his initial interview, we were able to make a match; without a doubt, it's Michael Gannon in the voice mail message," she told him.

"I think," Horatio drawled, "It's time for us to talk to the husband."

"Already on his way."

And though he was tired, Horatio knew…

He was ready.

* * *

Yelina sighed, as she signed another form. She'd been a cop for many years and could only vaguely remember the first time they'd hired her, but the brunette was absolutely sure she hadn't filled this much paperwork out the last time. There seemed to be an endless array of signatures to give, initials to write, and birthdates and social security numbers to put into tiny boxes.

And, of course, Stetler insisted on standing nearby, just out of her eyesight. But she could feel his own eyes on her. He was leering at her… like always. When they'd first started dating, Yelina had thought that the dark-haired man would become less lascivious, that he might even become complacent with her looks. After all, hadn't her husband, she asked herself, thinking of Suzie and what was probably a long line of betrayals.

But Rick hadn't changed when they were dating. Which was almost nice, in a way. The brunette would not deny that she liked the attention or that, when they were together, his constant attraction to her made her feel more wanted than she had in years.

Now, however, his leering just made her nervous. She tried to concentrate on the page in front of her to no avail. They'd moved to the main area of the police department so that she could fill out employment forms. It was crowded, officers coming and going, suspects being led in the same doors as victims and witnesses of crimes. Every now and then, someone would say something loudly, a bang filling the room, and that just added to her unease.

It wasn't that Yelina was worried he would… do something. Stetler had manipulated sex from her over the course of their relationship, probably because he didn't know how to interact with people in a non-confrontational manner. But even so, he wasn't so stupid as to try any of that here. Not in the company of other cops.

Still, there was something about the way he stared at her that made her uncomfortable. The brunette had no reasoning for it, had no explanations to offer. There was only a palpable concern that maybe… if he looked long enough, he would see through her. That if he kept going after her, mentally imagined taking off her clothes, and stripped the rest of her away, he would _see. _

He would see past her appearance and the face she put on for the rest of the world and _know_ just how decayed and unattractive her inner self was.

And truth be told, Yelina was worried Rick already knew that part. He'd dropped his questions in her interview, but… the brunette couldn't let go of the things he had said.

Naturally they'd been said in anger, but that didn't make them any less true. And she couldn't deny that he was right about it… all. She _had _thrown it all away for her husband, for her family. Which didn't even make sense in her own head, because Ray wasn't a very good father, and the best thing she could have done for her son was to keep Ray Junior from his namesake.

"Am I making you nervous?" Rick asked suddenly, and she whipped her head around to look at him.

"Why do you ask?" Her eyes narrowed on him in suspicion.

He smirked, which made her want to smack him. "You keep moving around in your chair." Rubbing his chin and taking a step forward, Stetler told her, "I know the chairs are uncomfortable, but you're moving around like a fish out of water."

She turned her attention back to the forms at hand and furrowed her brow as she tried to skim through the information. "I'm fine."

"You're thinking about Horatio," he said in a knowing voice, even though the truth was he couldn't be more wrong.

Refusing to look at him, Yelina told him, "If you really want me to know what's going on, then you should just tell me, Rick." She couldn't see him, but knowing Stetler, he was probably smirking right now.

"Well, if you want the truth, like I said, you're gonna have to talk to Horatio about that."

She frowned and viciously scrawled her signature next to a red X. Continuing to read through the packet, Yelina said warningly, "Then stop baiting me."

The dark-haired man said nothing else, had no retort, and for that, she was grateful. Flipping to the next page, Yelina worked as quickly as she could to finish filling out the pertinent information.

Finally, with a last set of initials, she was done. "I think I got everything," the brunette told him as she stood and handed him the papers.

"Great," he said, double-checking her work by leafing through the forms. "I'll just file these." Turning to leave, Stetler paused only to say condescendingly, "Stay where you are."

Yelina bit down on her lip to stop herself from giving him a nasty retort. Verbally sparring with him would only prolong this day. And even though it was still early in the morning, the brunette was eager for it to be over. Determined not to say anything, she turned to look out the window. People came and went, and she contented herself by watching.

Until someone interrupted her. "Yelina Salas."

She was all too familiar with the voice, and spinning around, the brunette immediately frowned when she saw the other woman.

"Ms. Nevins," she said coolly.

"Word is you're trying to get your job back."

Yelina looked at her suspiciously and said tersely, "Word travels fast."

"You know I'm actually a little surprised by that," Rebecca told her, though there was nothing in her voice that sounded even remotely shocked. "Given that your conduct has been questioned in the past –"

"By you."

The prosecutor gave her a false smile. "Yes, well… still. It's surprising that you still think that you have a place here. Especially after absconding with your husband, who faked his own death _and_ broke the law."

Yelina was tempted to laugh mirthlessly. She had never liked Rebecca Nevins, but the woman couldn't deny that the lawyer was slightly amusing with her overtly catty ways. Taking a step towards her, the newly hired detective said, "Maybe so, but… it turns out there are some people who disagree with you."

Rebecca also took a step forward. "People like Rick Stetler?" She tousled her hair. "You can't be so blind as to honestly believe he's hiring you for your talent, can you?" She seemed to hesitate then, before saying, "Well, maybe you can, considering…" Her voice trailed off.

"Considering what?" Yelina was suspicious, but she refused to let her eagerness infuse with her tones.

"Nothing… I just don't think _anyone_ could consider you to be the most perceptive of people. I mean, don't get me wrong: I was shocked to learn the truth about Horatio too," she said enthusiastically. "But he made it sound like you didn't know either, which would mean he'd been lying to _you_ for almost twenty years!"

Yelina's hazel eyes narrowed on Rebecca. The trap had been laid for her to step in, she knew it. And the brunette also understood that if she walked right into it, she would get hurt. Because the prosecutor either knew this supposed secret that Stetler had been talking about. Or she didn't – or there was no secret – and all it would do was upset her.

But, despite knowing that, Yelina couldn't resist. She _hated_ being kept in the dark, and trap or no, she had to hear what Rebecca was all so eager to tell her.

"Lying to me about what?" the brunette asked slowly, carefully, as though the speed of her words would determine how much the truth would hurt.

Rebecca seemed to hesitate then, and Yelina thought that maybe the other woman had been bluffing the whole time. But then the prosecutor continued, "I think you should sit down for this."

_End (23/??)_


	24. Chapter 23: Betrayals Exposed

Author's Note: Well, I think we're _finally_ at that chapter that I've been building up to since the prologue. Hopefully everyone will enjoy it. Special thanks to RedHotLover for her continual support. And naturally to Olly, my beta, who makes this all possible.

_Disclaimer: CSI:Miami belongs to other people. _

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Twenty-Three: Betrayals Exposed**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don't know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings." – Anais Nin _

The man sitting across from him shifted nervously in his chair. Eying him carefully, Horatio learned as much as he could about Michael Gannon. Their suspect was a man in his mid-thirties, looked as though he'd gotten into a few fights over the years – with assorted scars on his hands and face and some fresh bruises to boot. His long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, everything about this guy screamed "adult still trying to be a teenager." And the redhead thought that the man couldn't have looked guiltier.

"Is there a reason I'm here?" the man asked.

Calleigh who was standing somewhere behind the lieutenant spoke up first. "Mr. Gannon, we just need to clear a few things up about what happened."

"Really?" He frowned. "The DA assured me that you guys had the teens who did this. And that they'd all pay for what they'd done…. She told me that this morning."

"Things change," the blonde told him simply.

"How so?"

Horatio smiled. It was just the question he'd been waiting for. "We know you had your wife kidnapped," he said accusingly.

Gannon screwed up his face in forced confusion. "What… what do you mean? I thought those kids –" He stopped and leaned back in his chair. "What's this about?"

Though the redhead didn't turn around, he could hear Calleigh leafing through the papers, the soft swishing filling the silent and angry room. Abruptly, she placed an image from the security camera onto the table and pushed it towards the suspect with her index and middle fingers.

"We found a receipt for rope and other supplies outside of the abandoned apartment building; we located the store and took the security tapes from the date the items were purchased," the blonde explained.

"So," Gannon sniped.

"So…_Mike,"_ Horatio returned in kind. "That would be a picture of _you_ with one of the teenagers who confessed to kidnapping your wife."

The man shoved the still image from the security tape back at the redhead. "Coincidence. Just because I shopped for some building supplies on the same day –"

"At a store almost a half hour from your home?" Calleigh asked skeptically.

"I was in the area," Gannon offered lamely. "And like I said, it was a coincidence. I love my wife. Why would I kidnap her?"

"Well, frankly… that's what we'd like to know," Horatio drawled. This time, it was he who produced the next evidence they'd found – the phone logs and the cell phone itself.

"We took a look at your phone logs," the blonde said. "And we found several instances where a call was made from your home to the foster family where the teenagers were from. And to this cell phone that belonged to an Adam Jackson – who you were in the security tape with."

"That's a pretty big coincidence," Horatio taunted. The redhead knew he wasn't usually this sarcastic in suspect interviews. Sure there were the occasional comments uttered at the right time to get a confession. But today the lieutenant felt less in control of that. Whether it was the exhaustion or the fact that Kyle was involved – or even just that this man was obviously guilty – he didn't really know.

And while part of him didn't care at all, the rest of him _knew_ he needed to reign himself in. Because Horatio understood that if he kept going, Gannon would close up, and he _wanted_ that confession. Maybe it was a formality at this point, as they definitely had this man, but the redhead wasn't going to let an admission of guilt slip through his fingers in exchange for a few bromides.

"I love my wife," Michael Gannon repeated defensively.

Calleigh took a seat next to Horatio, and looking over at her, the CSI could see what she was about to do. Her green eyes filled with sympathy, everything about her soft and all southern charm. "I believe you," she said gently. "I think you do love your wife. But sometimes… people do things they shouldn't do."

"It wasn't like that."

"No, I don't mean _you_ necessarily," she said quickly. Horatio didn't add anything, just watched her. Taking a deep breath, the blonde started over. "I didn't mean that you did anything wrong. All I meant was sometimes… spouses do things that _push_ others to respond in a particular way."

Gannon didn't respond. But he _did_ look away, and it told both CSIs that they were headed in the right direction.

"Listen, Michael," she said gently, her voice almost saccharine sweet. "We have enough to arrest you, and the truth is… you're _going_ to be arrested. But… if you were to tell us the truth, tell us what happened and _why_ you did what you did… maybe we could help you." She licked her lips. "If you give us a good reason, then the jury will be much more lenient. But you stay silent, then you're just going to look like an uncaring, unfeeling husband. And juries don't tend to be so lenient with them."

Horatio knew, even before Gannon said anything, that it had been perfectly done. This wasn't the first time Calleigh had used that trick, and over the years, she'd mastered it, had learned to be just the right combination of sympathetic and realistic.

Gannon hesitated for a moment or two before finally nodding his head. "All right, I'll tell you what you want to know."

* * *

The two women sat next to one another, staring. Yelina waited for Rebecca Nevins to talk, but the lawyer seemed reluctant to do so. And since she'd seemed so eager only moments earlier, the curly-haired woman could only assume that this was for effect.

Another minute passed by, and finally, Yelina asked, "You were going to tell me what Horatio has been keeping from me?" As soon as the words were out, she corrected herself. "What he's _supposedly_ hiding from me." The brunette didn't even bother to try keeping the doubt out of her voice.

Rebecca smirked. "Yelina, I know you may not like me." The Colombian couldn't help but chuckle derisively. "All right," the prosecutor backtracked. "Obviously, you don't like me. But in the back of your mind, you've been thinking lately that Horatio's been hiding something from you." Leaning forward, she added, "I can tell, because if you thought that I was _lying,_ you wouldn't be listening to a word I have to say."

"Just get to the point," Yelina ordered.

"Okay… The truth is Horatio arrested a boy yesterday afternoon in connection with a kidnapping."

"I know that," the brunette said testily. Really, she thought. If this was all for nothing, if Rebecca was trying to make her upset by telling her something she already knew, then this was a waste of time. And Yelina didn't exactly feel like spending more time with the prosecutor than was absolutely necessary.

Irritation rising within her began to wear away at her patience. The sooner Rebecca revealed this big secret, the better it was for all of them, Yelina realized.

"Yes, but what you _don't_ know – or at least I'm assuming he hasn't told you – is that Horatio is… the teenager's father."

The teenager's father?

Yelina could feel her eyes widen in surprise, her mouth open, though the words at first had no meaning to her. Father?

Horatio was a father?

"But…" She tried to say something, tried to think of some response. But her mind felt waterlogged, slow, as though she were a child once more first learning how to put words together.

Horatio was Kyle Harmon's father, she repeated mentally. But that would mean... She didn't know what that meant, couldn't even conceive of it.

Her hazel eyes quickly raked over Rebecca, looking for a sign. It was a lie, she told herself, nothing but a lie. And yet for all she could tell, the other woman's face held no hint that she was trying to play with Yelina. Which either meant that the prosecutor had a wonderful poker face and a penchant for cruelty or…

It was true.

"Horatio," she started only to stop. The brunette swallowed hard, licking her lips quickly. Reality clawed at her throat, making her feel as though speaking – breathing – was impossible. "Has a son," she finished eventually. Her words were quiet and tentative.

But the admittance seemed to pound in her head, felt deafening to her own ears.

Horatio had a child. No, not even a child anymore; Kyle Harmon was a teenager. And her brother-in-law had been lying about this since… since before Ray Junior was born.

She furrowed her brow in confusion. He'd lied to her. Again. First Madison and now Kyle Harmon.

How… was that even possible?

How had she not realized the truth?

Because she'd seen it in the boy's features, she'd _seen_ it in the way Horatio acted. But Yelina hadn't figured it out. Her eyes instinctively glanced down at her hands. Why hadn't she…

"I don't blame you," Rebecca interrupted in a sickeningly false tone. "Horatio's always kept his secrets, and if there was ever something to keep hidden, this would be that, right?"

Yelina had nothing to say in response. There were no words at the moment that could give voice to the sharp sting of this betrayal. And even if there were, she had no intentions of showing that side of herself to _this_ woman. She glared at Rebecca.

But the prosecutor didn't stop there. "I know it's upsetting," she said. Tentatively, she slid her hand over to Yelina's, touching it. What could have been a sympathetic gesture felt all wrong coming from Rebecca. The simple act _burned_, the brunette thought. "But I think the bigger concern here is the city of Miami and whether or not you can effectively protect them."

Yelina pulled her hand away, instinctively rubbing at the now seemingly tainted bit of olive skin with her fingers. And though she was still in shock, Rebecca's words pierced through the numbing veil that had wrapped itself around her mind. "You don't think I can do my job?" she asked, the irritation seeping through each and every syllable.

The lawyer gave her a false smile and began tapping her fingers against the metal desk. Mealy-mouthed, she told Yelina, "I understand that you _want _to do a good job. And hey, _I_ couldn't be a detective – it's a hard profession. That you did it well for so many years... that says something. But I think we need to take a step back and… examine this as rationally as possible."

Rebecca turned to face the brunette even more so, and Yelina had no doubt that it was to see just how badly her words would cut through. "The fact of the matter is, no matter how well intentioned, you're just… better off doing something else with your life."

Yelina frowned, gritted her teeth to stop herself from hitting the woman. "That is just your opinion."

"It would be anyone's opinion if they knew the truth!" Rebecca exclaimed. "I mean a detective needs to have insight and instinct. And how intuitive and intelligent can you be if you don't even know that your brother-in-law has been hiding some kid from you for a good sixteen years?"

Yelina wanted to kill her. Seriously felt the urge to bludgeon the woman to death. It was a pet peeve of hers – women who tried so blatantly hard to get what they wanted. And often times, these situations reared their ugly head when someone would flirt with Horatio (which, she thought at that moment, ironically would probably never happen again).

But this was no different. The way Rebecca was so… _intent_ on being right and getting ahead – and in this instance, causing her pain – was repulsive. The desire to hit the prosecutor had always been there, but now, it was almost unbearable.

Her hands were clenched into fists, ready to strike. She bit down on her tongue so hard that tears threatened to fall from her eyes. She was poised to attack, teetering at the very edge of her control.

It wasn't the first time that Yelina had become this angry, but this was the first time she no longer cared. If she punched Rebecca, oh well; that was a price she was all but eager to pay. The feel of the woman's blood on her hands would be a _reward_. And it didn't even matter that she'd probably go to jail.

It definitely didn't matter that she no longer had Horatio as a safety net.

Of course, he would _try._ But, as the minutes ticked by, the truth was finally sinking in, each second adding new understanding to the betrayal she had inherently felt. And her shock was giving way to rage, which meant all she wanted to do was lash out and strike everything in her path.

"Do you have anything to say?" Rebecca asked. "Or am I to understand that your silence is a sign of concurrence?"

"No," Yelina hissed. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her knuckles had turned an almost ghostly white. And she could feel her nails digging painfully into the soft flesh of her palm.

"No?" The prosecutor sounded confused. "Yelina, I know this is hard, but come on. We both know that if someone can lie to you for so long, that you're not exactly the best judge of character. And –"

But whatever she was going to add went unsaid, thankfully, because it was Rick's threatening voice that filled the air. "You're gonna need to stop now," he ordered.

Rebecca stood up and spun around, her hands on her hips. "You don't have any authority to tell me –"

"That's funny," he snapped. "Cause I just did."

"Aw, don't be mad that I told her the truth first," she said as though she were talking to a little boy. And as Rick began to explain how he never had any intention of telling Yelina what happened, the brunette couldn't help but turn around in her chair.

Was it written in stone that everyone else had to know about these things before she did?

"Like you _don't_ want to hurt Horatio?" Rebecca retorted in response to Stetler.

"I'm not saying that," he said.

The throbbing in her head seemed to worsen as the other two people in the room began to fight. And deciding she'd had enough, Yelina stood up, grabbing her purse off of the table. Rick continued, seemingly unaware, "But using _her_ to get to him is –"

"And since when do you give a shit about hurting innocent people?" Rebecca snarled.

"Since I learned that Yelina's got a mean right hook" was the last thing the brunette heard as she left the room, the door clattering shut behind her.

The main area of the police department was still crowded with various people, walking and talking. And even though it was muffled, she could hear Rick and Rebecca still sniping at one another. Everywhere around her, there was the soft din of chatter, but Yelina couldn't help but feel completely alone.

Not that she really wanted company.

Still too wound up, the brunette felt… almost claustrophobic. As though being in the presence of another human being would suffocate her.

And she knew that if that were really the case, then she should leave now, escape before someone in the building recognized her and wanted to talk to her. Or before Horatio, if he was even around, had a chance to see her. Away from Rebecca, her murderous rage had subsided, but not completely, and she really didn't have it in her to confront her brother-in-law just yet.

But, despite knowing she should leave, Yelina felt herself unable to move. It felt as though her body and mind worked on completely different circuits. Somehow... she was simultaneously numb and in more pain than she thought Horatio could have ever caused her to feel.

Her stomach churned, and for a second she thought she might throw up.

How could he do this to her?

She bit her lip to stop herself from crying out. Rationally, Yelina understood that she had no… _right_ to demand the truth from him. He wasn't her child, wasn't someone who had to answer to her. And if Horatio wanted to lie or keep this a secret, then she'd never really had any ground to stand on to ask him otherwise.

More than that the sister-in-law was _completely _aware that she had no right to lay claim to him; if he wanted to have sex with another woman, she was hardly in a position to stop him. But…

Wasn't there some overriding duty here? To tell the truth to your family if only so bitchy prosecutors didn't reveal your secret first? And wasn't it _wrong_ to deny that there was something unique about a case when _asked_ by a family member?

Maybe she really didn't have a right to demand answers, but… that didn't mean Horatio should lie.

The sad truth was she didn't know where the moral high ground lay. Because her brother-in-law had always been the most honest, most trustworthy person she knew. His moral compass never truly seemed to waiver, so maybe…

No, her mind counted. She would _not_ wonder if he had done the right thing here. As upset as she was, as much as Yelina wanted Rebecca to be wrong about the whole ordeal, she would _not_ second guess what she knew to be true: it was wrong to lie to your family.

It was wrong to lie to the people you loved.

But now, and she couldn't help the whimper that rose in her throat as she thought this, Yelina doubted that to be true. She had _always_ been so sure that Horatio was attracted to her, that he cared about her, and wanted her to be happy. Maybe there had been brief moments of doubt in the past, but she had always come to that same conclusion. That despite his fundamental inability to grasp his feelings for her, he _did_ want her to be happy. With the truth out now, though, that seemed almost impossible.

A hand clasped down on her shoulder, and her body, almost of its own volition, spun around. The force of her movement knocked the gentle appendage away, and Yelina had to stop herself from giving into her anger and hitting Rick, who stood before her.

"You should be celebrating," she accused, her voice a deep hiss.

"You may not believe me, but I didn't want this."

"Of course you did."

His hand sought out one of hers. From the way he was looking at her, she could tell that he was trying to be sympathetic. But it was a _wasted_ effort on her, because his pity was the last thing she wanted. His fingers clasping around hers, she was abruptly pulled from her thoughts. Quickly she tried to wrench her hand out of his way.

But he was ultimately stronger, not only maintaining his grip but pulling her closer as well. "I wanted you to know the truth, okay? Because I thought you had the right to know. But I didn't want you to find it out like that. Not from her and not when you weren't prepared to hear the truth."

Yelina didn't know whether or not to believe him. How could she make any decision when Rebecca was right about her judgment?

She swallowed hard, trying to think of the right words to say to him. She should yell at him and push him away, because Rick could easily be lying. But the anger that threatened to overflow seemed, oddly enough, hard to force out. The way her hand, trapped in his fingers, rubbed against the soft cotton of his striped pink shirt was almost more than she could bear.

It was familiar to her, which she needed right now more than anything. And maybe the comfort was forced, but… she wanted it.

Perhaps sensing her weakness, Rick offered, in an almost tender way, "Let me drive you home."

She shook her head instinctively, the word, "no," being blurted out before she had a chance to stop herself. As much as Yelina wanted his comfort, it was hard to overcome her natural reflexes. Which, when it came to Stetler, always involved being contrary and stubborn. And knowing that, she couldn't squash the voice inside of her that said she couldn't be near him right now, because he continually brought out the worst in her.

He shook his head and tugged on her captured hand to pull her closer. His fingers snaking upwards, the dark-haired man grabbed her by the elbows. The touch, she thought, was strong – firm enough to let her know that she wasn't going to be able to free herself without his consent.

And yet it wasn't a violent move on his part; he was manhandling her but in an attempt to soothe. His thumbs every so often stroked over her white linen jacket on the fleshy underside of her elbow. "You're just saying that," he countered.

"No, I'm not," Yelina said, her voice not nearly convincing enough.

Mentally, the brunette kicked herself. She should either accept his help or hit him and move along, she thought. Because vacillating was wearing on what little self-control she had left. "Let me go," she ordered, her voice sounding petulant even to her own ears. In the end, she decided, anger was the better way to go. It was easier, and more than that, blanketing herself in her own fury was safer. Because there was no one else to rely on, no one else she had to trust.

But Rick wasn't going to give in without a fight. "Not until you agree to let me take you home, Yelina."

She tried to pull away from him to no avail. "I can drive myself, thank you."

"You're too upset!" he snapped irritated.

There was no retort for that. Yelina could hardly deny the truth in those words, and she had no intention of giving into him. Once more, the brunette tried to pull her arms away.

But he was stronger, unfortunately. And the more she fought him, the closer he pulled her. "Stop," Rick finally told her.

If there was anything that would make her want to struggle some more, that was it. And she let out an "Hmph," as she tried to free her arms from his hands.

"Stop it," he nearly barked, jerking her forward so quickly that she teetered on her heels. "Stop it," Stetler repeated. "You're upset, I get that. But look around you. Look where you are. You really want to attract attention to yourself right now?"

His voice sounded incredibly patronizing, but it felt like a cool balm to the inner flames that burned within her. Seemingly jerking awake to the reality around her, Yelina realized that he was right. If she kept acting this way, the only thing that would happen is more people would approach her. And it was bad enough dealing with Stetler's concern.

She stopped struggling.

"Good girl," he said, letting go of one of her arms and using his hand to cup her cheek.

She wanted to punch him.

"Now… let me drive you home." The brunette opened her mouth to say no, but he cut her off. "The other option is I get an officer to drive you home… _or_ you get a police escort. Neither of those is very quiet." Brushing a curl away from her face, he said then, "So what's it gonna be?"

If there had ever been a moment in her mind where she'd forgotten why she hated Stetler, Yelina remembered her reasons now. Biting down on the inside of her mouth, the brunette knew she had no choice.

"Fine," she said glumly. "But you should know... this changes _nothing._"

Rick only replied, "Atta girl," as he led her out.

_End (24/??)_


	25. Chapter 24: A Poison Tree

Author's Note: Thanks to RedHotLover once again for the review, as well as to my beta, Olly, who is just too awesome for words. To everyone else, please read and review.

_Disclaimer: I don't own the show, so don't sue me. _

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Twenty-Four: A Poison Tree**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_Anger ventilated often hurries toward forgiveness; and concealed often hardens into revenge." – Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton_

The written and signed confession tucked under his arm, Horatio felt victorious. Even though Rebecca was looking to punish him, in the end, she couldn't ignore the evidence. And all of it pointed to Michael Gannon as the mastermind and the other teenager, Adam Jackson, as the main co-conspirator. On the other hand, none of it, the redhead thought with relief, demonstrated Kyle eagerly going along with the kidnapping.

Which would make Rebecca's case against his son hard to win. And Horatio knew just how much she liked winning.

Calleigh was taking the husband right now to processing, and the lieutenant had to stop himself from running down the hallways with the confession in his hands. Heading towards the main entrance area, Horatio forced himself to contain his mirth. Especially since his problems were more than likely just beginning, it felt wrong to celebrate just yet; God only knew that if Rebecca did let Kyle off, then the real work would start.

Hopefully the boy would appreciate everything Horatio had done in the last day or so. But… the redhead knew that it was ridiculous to think that that made up for everything he _hadn't_ done.

Entering the main lobby of the police station, however, the thought was forced abruptly from his mind. Because standing in the very area he was headed was his sister-in-law.

She was turned away from him, but Horatio knew it was her. Dark curls tumbling down her back, Yelina was the only person he knew who would wear a pristine white suit. And safe from her gaze, the redhead was content to look at her for a moment.

But it was a feeling that didn't last long.

From one of the rooms Stetler appeared, and Horatio watched as the dark-haired man grabbed Yelina. And when she whipped around, he could see she was upset.

The proverbial warning bells went off, and he could feel his blood begin to rise, could feel his jaw twitch. He didn't know why his sister-in-law was here to begin with, but in this instance, it didn't matter; he didn't care. Stetler was upsetting her, _grabbing _her, which was all Horatio needed to know.

His feet moved forward of their own volition. But he'd barely moved three feet before Rebecca Nevins appeared in front of him.

"Horatio," she said. "You paged me?"

Her timing couldn't have been worse. His eyes glanced over his shoulder, and he could see Stetler was still harassing Yelina. But at the same time, Rebecca stood in front of him, annoyed, and Horatio knew she wouldn't tolerate his hesitation forever.

"Rebecca…" His voice trailed off, as his attention turned solely to his sister-in-law.

"Look, I get it. You don't want your son to go to jail," the prosecutor said. "But it's going to happen."

Horatio had known that there would be a time when he would have to choose between his sister-in-law and his son. Truth be told, he'd thought that it would come later, when he'd actually _told_ Yelina the truth. But here he was now, being forced to make that choice. If he ignored Rebecca and went to the other woman's aid, then there'd be no convincing the lawyer about Kyle. She would, the redhead thought, refuse to accept his evidence out of spite.

He shifted on his feet, as Rebecca launched into some argument about how repeat juvenile defenders, like Kyle, would end up in jail anyway. He had to choose, had to make this decision now…

And… Horatio did what he thought any father would do.

Yelina could defend herself, and if not there were dozens of cops scattered about. But his son was going to be in prison if he didn't stop that right now, and there was no one else who would be able to save Kyle.

Quickly, if painfully, Horatio turned his attention solely onto Rebecca. His sister-in-law would have to do this on her own.

"About that actually…"

The prosecutor rolled her eyes. "Come on, Horatio. You know my case is strong. And unless you've got something else –"

"I do."

She seemed perplexed by this. "Really?" Stepping closer to him, Rebecca asked, "The real kind or the type of evidence someone fabricates to save their son?"

Horatio flashed his hurt blue eyes at her but handed her the evidence packet and signed confession nonetheless. "Read it for yourself," he told her. "You'll see that it's very real. All evidence was processed by CSI Duquesne."

"Your friend."

Well, that didn't exactly seem true anymore, the redhead thought, the pain of the situation tugging at him once more. The easy back and forth he'd shared with Calleigh had been nearly absent last night. And while… the blonde might have begun to trust him again, she surely wasn't going to fabricate evidence for him. He knew that much.

A pang in his stomach radiated through him then. And Horatio couldn't help but feel as though he'd lost so much by one simple action. If only he'd known that Julia was pregnant… if only he'd known Julia at all.

"If you don't want to believe her abilities," Horatio said, pulling himself from his thoughts. "Then you can talk to Michael Gannon himself. There's a signed confession in there for you to read." He inwardly smirked as Rebecca flipped through the file. "But let me sum up what it says. Mr. Gannon confesses to having his wife kidnapped after she discovered that he was having sex with a teenage boy."

"Your son?" the prosecutor asked hopefully, and Horatio had to take a moment to avoid saying something he would regret.

"_No,_" he told her scathingly. "Adam Jackson was the man's… lover. Gannon told the boy that if he did not find some method of disposing of his wife, their affair would end."

"And the kid agreed?" she asked in disbelief.

"Apparently."

She shifted on her feet, her fingers drumming against the manila folder. "Well, I'll have to read through the entire evidence package before making any decision."

"Rebecca," he said warningly.

"Like I said, I know you want your son out of his holding cell," she said. "But I'm not going to okay that without sitting down and_ reading_ what you found… Give me an hour, all right?"

He wanted to demand his son, wanted to ask her if she really thought he would lie about what he'd learned. But the truth was… Horatio feared what her answer might be, and so he nodded his head. Because he knew it was wrong to expect everyone to trust him like they once had after they'd learned about Kyle.

"I'll page you when I'm done," she said quietly walking off.

And soon after she'd left, the redhead realized that his sister-in-law was no longer in the lobby area. Looking around, he also didn't see Stetler. Which couldn't be good, because the way the IAB agent was looking at Yelina tugged at Horatio's conscience. Neither of those two people would walk away civilly, not after Rick had grabbed her like that.

The brother-in-law felt the urge to find her… go to her house, do_ something_ to know she was okay. But the father, the part of him that seemed to be growing exponentially by the moment, knew that he needed to stick around. Because the closer he was to his son, the sooner he could get to him when Rebecca called.

And it bothered Horatio that his priorities could change so easily in a day's time.

But there was no going back now, no undoing this… Yelina would just have to find a way to fend for herself.

* * *

It was warm outside, a truly beautiful day, the brunette thought. But all she wanted was cold weather, rain, and a blanket to hide under.

"Where's your car?" Rick asked, breaking through her thoughts.

After everything that had happened though, Yelina couldn't remember, try as she might. And looking around the parking lot, the brunette couldn't spot it, but she refused to say anything to Stetler. Childish as it was, she hoped that the silent treatment would wear on his nerves, finally getting him to leave her alone.

"Fine," he said irritably, as though she had forced him into this situation. "Gimme your purse." When she didn't, the dark-haired man snatched it roughly off of her shoulder, eagerly opening it. His fingers dug through the contents of the red bag, completely unconcerned for her privacy. Grabbing her keys, Rick used the alarm system to find her car.

His hand coming to rest on her hip, his fingers pressing firmly into her skin, he directed her to the car. "You know you could make this easier on us both. It doesn't have to be like pulling teeth." He shoved her purse back at her.

Yelina wanted to tell him that it actually _did_ need to be this difficult. If only because she didn't, or they didn't, know how to do it any other way. But that would involve speaking to him, which the brunette had no intention of doing. Besides, she thought, as he pushed her through a row of cars, Stetler was in his own world right now. So convinced of his own rightness, nothing could say would matter.

Her red heels clicking on the black asphalt, she slowed her pace when they reached her car. And though Rick wasn't a car enthusiast, the dark-haired man couldn't help but stop to admire the new vehicle. His brown eyes raked over the silvery white convertible, much in the same way he liked to appraise her body.

Honestly, Yelina had come to regret the purchase. After Raymond had died, after the rest of her family had fled to Miami once more, her mother had convinced her that a reward was in order. For putting up with her husband's immoral and unconscionable ways, she'd said at the time.

Yelina hadn't thought that it was fair to reward herself with anything for what had happened. Her own son had almost died, thanks to her inability to leave Ray. But the daughter had agreed to buy herself something expensive, if only to avoid repeating the conversation with her mother in the future.

And the car she'd bought was beautiful; the brunette didn't doubt that at all. But the money used to buy the vehicle came mainly from the income Ray had made in Brazil. Which meant that it was more than likely drug money or cash he'd borrowed from Horatio.

And while legally, it would probably be impossible to prove that she was complicit in her husband's actions… the convertible weighed on her conscience heavily. Wrapped in horsepower and leather seats was the proof, in her own mind, that she had been complacent.

"Nice car," Rick said. The brunette knew it was a compliment, maybe even a way to soothe the tension between them both. But he didn't_ see_ what the car really was, and that just made her hate him more.

He led her over to the passenger side, opening the door for her. But she made no move to take a seat. "Get in," he ordered.

When Yelina continued to stand there, Stetler finally forced her inside, one hand pushing down on her shoulder, the other splayed across her lower back. It was awkward, and she tried to refuse as best as she could, but eventually he won the silent argument. Because after everything that she'd learned about Horatio, the truth was the brunette didn't have that much fight left in her.

She plopped down uncharacteristically into the seat, crossing her arms in a huff. Slamming the door shut, Stetler stalked to the other side of the car before getting in. His hands smashed the keys roughly into the ignition.

But the dark-haired man made no move, and she wondered for a moment why they were sitting in the parking lot.

"Put your seat belt on," he ordered her finally.

It made no sense to be petulant, but Yelina had no interest in being cooperative. Not now. "No," she said.

"Yes," Stetler hissed.

"No."

They went back and forth like this, getting louder and louder. Until finally, he, his cheeks red with anger, reached across her, trying to grab the belt himself. His arm brushed up against her stomach, and something inside of her seemed to unhinge itself.

She was a grown woman, an adult. But for years, it seemed like someone else was always around taking care of her, or at least trying to do that. First, there had been Ray, and then when he had died, Yelina had allowed Horatio to… fill that role.

Which in a way made no sense at all to her. The brunette was _not_ a fan of men who insisted on caring for her, who treated her as anything less than equal. And yet… looking back at it now, she could see how Ray (and Horatio) had been that sort of guy.

Her brother-in-law had never _really_ wanted to be that for her. Any closeness with her was wrong in his eyes. But that hadn't ever really stopped either of them from dancing around that thin line between friends and something else.

And then… maybe because of Madison and Suzie, Yelina had moved onto Rick, and he'd fulfilled that role as best as he could.

Best as he could. That was really the key phrase with all of these men, wasn't it? They all insinuated themselves into her life, and in the end, they all failed to measure up, to actually be what they said they would be. The anger, forged from all of the past betrayals and today's discovery, clutched at her throat, ripping away what little control she had left.

Just as Rick's hand grasped the seat belt buckle, Yelina snapped. She shoved his arm away hard. "I said no," she snarled. He scoffed, reaching over once more, and she pushed him away again.

"Stop," he told her. Once again, his hand started to make its way over, but this time, she slapped his forearm. Hard. Rick sat in the driver's seat silently for a moment, and glancing over, Yelina thought she saw his mouth forming the first ten numbers.

Eventually the dark-haired man turned to her. "You're lucky I've been taking an anger management course since we broke up."

And though her own fury refused to let up, somewhere in the back of her mind, she was proud of him for that. It was something she'd always thought he could benefit from… though sometimes, the brunette thought the same about herself. At least right now, anyway, part of her worried what she might do while _this_ angry.

But Yelina quickly shoved that thought aside.

Too late to turn back.

She was mad, she told herself, feeling the rage grow inside of herself. And when he tried to grab the seat belt again, she snatched his arm, as she pushed him away. He was wearing a suit and long-sleeve shirt, but the brunette used her nails to dig in as deeply as possible, trying to scratch him.

She wanted him to bleed.

"You fucking bitch!" he yelled, trying to wrench his arm away from her. She desperately wanted to hold on, because as soon as she let go, anger management or no, the brunette could tell what would happen. His eyes were black, his face contorted in rage.

As they fought over the appendage, Stetler turned his body. Raising his free arm into the air, his hand came crashing down, slapping her thigh. The white linen skirt she was wearing did little to muffle the sound or absorb the force.

Her breath came out along with a whimper, and Yelina couldn't help but let go of his arm.

Now free, his right hand rained blows down onto her thigh. Seemingly without any thought at all, he slapped her leg three times in a row, each strike stinging more than the last.

The tears she had tried so hard to hold back earlier sprang from her eyes, spilling down her cheeks completely unwanted. And when he stopped, there was nothing but the sound of car engine, her unsteady and his hard breathing.

They sat there in silence, her eyes trained on the police station. The desire to rub her burning thigh was almost overwhelming, as was the need to wipe away the tears running down her cheeks. But Yelina wasn't going to give him the satisfaction, wouldn't let him know just how much it _hurt._

After a moment, Stetler said, "Put on your seat belt." His voice was terse, and she could tell that he was still angry. And maybe she was a masochist not to obey, but the brunette stubbornly refused to do so.

He reached over, grabbing her chin in his right hand and forcefully turning her head so that she would look at him. "Listen to me," he told her. She tried to turn away from him, so Stetler dug his fingers into her flesh; Yelina prayed that it wouldn't bruise. "Uh uh," he said. "Look at me. I'm not going to do this today."

His eyes were so black that they looked like coal. "I'm trying to do something nice, so stop acting like a little cunt," he ordered. "Now you have two choices: you either _behave_ and buckle up your seat belt. Or I'm gonna shove your ass in the trunk." The anger in his voice left no doubt in her mind that Stetler meant what he said.

And so she had no choice but to take the seat belt in her hands and strap herself into the car. He watched as she did so, perhaps because the dark-haired man didn't trust her to actually follow through with it.

But once the tiny click filled the air, Stetler let out an audible sigh of relief.

Reaching back over once more, his touch was almost… loving. His fingers tucked a curl behind her ear before his thumb gently wiped away a tear on her cheek. "I'm sorry," Rick said so quietly that she wasn't even sure he'd really said it.

As he drove out of the parking lot, his right hand traveled downward, coming to rest on her thing. And if Yelina had doubted an apology before, she knew this was one now. Because the palm of his hand began to gently rub circles into the area where he had slapped her.

The brunette didn't know what to say in response. Rick was being nice enough now, but it was so easy for him to switch personalities. Which meant she had no desire to make nice with him. And, really, what should she tell him anyway?

That she understood his frustration and anger? Because, as much as she had always wanted to comprehend his violent rage, she didn't. Should she say that she forgave him? Because Yelina did _not_ feel as though a simple apology made up for anything. Especially not today, when the world she'd lived in seemed to have been irrevocably broken.

There were no other options, no other words she might tell him, save for "I'm sorry." And Yelina felt anything but contrite. Even if some part of her should feel bad for being stubborn and unappreciative, the brunette didn't have it in her to apologize. That was, at the moment, asking too much of her.

So instead they continued to drive in silence, one of his hands on the wheel, the other on her. It was almost too much for her, the picture they made. The brunette couldn't help but think that someone looking in the car would believe they were a couple. His hand warm and gentle on her, it would seem to anyone else that he was doting on her. But they were _far _from that, far from _anything_ that even _remotely _resembled normal or happy. And she hated it.

What had she done in life to deserve such convoluted and happy relationships?

The answer eluded her.

But then they passed an intersection with a homeless man, standing by one of the stop signs. In his dirty hands was a piece of cardboard with the words, "Will work for food," written in marker. And another question entered her mind.

"I suppose you're firing me then?" Her voice was pinched, each syllable thickened by her accent. She didn't want to sound upset, but apparently, Yelina wasn't capable of anything else at the moment.

Her hazel eyes slid carefully over to Rick, who was more concentrated on driving than answering her question.

Eventually though, his fingers crept down to her bare knee, squeezing it lightly. He told her, "Nah. Already filed the paperwork, and if I fire you, then that'll mean I have to fill out more forms, and it hardly seems worth it." His answer was odd, confusing.

Rick took a right turn, and as an afterthought, the dark-haired man said, "Besides, I like having you around."

And it made all the sense in the world to her then – why he would insist on being the one to interview her, why he would be so curious about Rio, and why he should want to drive her home.

Rick… liked her, missed her even.

Perhaps Rebecca was right about her inability to perceive things, because thinking about it now, it seemed pretty obvious to Yelina.

But the truth was, she had been so bogged down in Rick's problems, in their obvious… anger over the various things that had happened, that it had been so hard to see. And given what had happened today, the brunette couldn't help but be just… a little glad that _someone_ appreciated her company.

Even if he was so horrible about showing it.

As they continued to drive, Yelina took his hand.

Maybe things didn't have to be so bad after all.

_End (25/??)_


	26. Chapter 25: The Insufficiency of Bagels

Author's Note: Special thanks to Shining Zephyr for the review. Naturally, I need to thank my beta, Olly, for all of her help. You make my chapters legible, which I think everyone is grateful for.

As always, please read and review.

_Disclaimer: Don't own it. Don't sue me. _

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Twenty-Five: The Insufficiency of Bagels**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_Two things stand like stone: kindness in another's trouble, courage in your own." – Adam Lindsay Gordon_

Still facing the wall, Kyle wasn't sure how he knew it was mid-morning. He hadn't looked at the window by the guard's desk since dawn. But the blond could tell that hours had passed.

Or maybe it just felt that way.

His fingers worked continually to increase the width of the crack in the wall. After all, it wasn't like he had anything better to do with his time. But, even knowing that, Kyle thought that there was something relaxing about it, something satisfying about being able to see the product of his own work.

Little tiny pieces of paint and drywall specked the gray metal cot. His fingers were tainted a gruesome pink, a combination of his dried blood and mortar. Or whatever this wall was made out of.

Trying to block the sounds of the guards' almost continual chatter and the occasional snore from a prisoner, Kyle sunk deeper into his thoughts. He imagined what he might have been like if his life had been different. If he'd never lost his mother, if he'd had a father who had actually been around when it mattered… if the teen himself hadn't fucked his foster family's daughter or gotten caught. Or been forced into this mess to begin with.

Wiggling his index finger in the crack, Kyle couldn't stop himself from thinking all the what ifs. And in doing so, the blond couldn't help but notice how many outs he'd been given – or could have had if everyone else in his life had done what they were supposed to do.

Maybe he'd screwed up a lot, the teenager admitted, but there was no denying the feeling that so much of his life had already been determined for him by someone else's actions.

Flecks of paint fell in a delicate snow from the wall. Trying to turn his attention elsewhere, Kyle thought that maybe in another life, being a sculptor would have been a fun job. Or perhaps being a painter. Something where you could immediately see the results of your actions and know whether it was good or not.

He wasn't interested in hidden agendas or anything long term.

Quickly, hearing someone's footsteps approach his cell, Kyle jerked his hand from the wall. He tried to brush the proof of his actions onto the floor before tucking his dirty fingers under his side. Not that he was doing anything wrong, but the blond hardly wanted to be accused of trying to dig a tunnel out of here.

Of course… was anyone really stupid enough to think that would work?

Probably, he decided, shutting his eyes, as the door to his cell was unlocked. An alarm bell inside made him think that maybe ignoring the disturbance was the wrong thing to do. Especially if they were going to be giving him a new cell mate, having his back turned wasn't a great idea. .

Maybe, Kyle thought then, he should have been worried who was coming to see him or what was going on.

But at the same time, he thought that he was safe enough. Maybe in a prison with crappy security, Kyle would be man meat. But the holding cells at the police department weren't like that. The way each barred area was situated, the guards could easily see in. And maybe cops weren't generally trustworthy, but letting rape happen on their watch, right in their line of sight, was a little too much… even for them.

A person, the boy thought, would have to be really stupid to try something in this place.

Just to be sure though, Kyle tightened his free hand into a fist. He waited for something to happen, the sound of a belt buckle jingling – anything – but nothing changed.

"Kyle."

Cautiously turning around and sitting up, the teenager could see the other man standing inside the barred area with him. Not a guard or a prisoner or some other nameless face, but… Horatio Caine.

The blond looked up at the older man but said nothing. Words escaped him, because… he really hadn't expected to see the redhead ever again. Yes, it was a proven fact that they were related. But Kyle didn't think DNA meant much when there were no memories or feelings of love behind it.

And honestly... Horatio seemed like the kind of man who liked being seen as perfect, even when he wasn't. _Clearly_ he wasn't, but from what Kyle had seen, so many people were willing to overlook that. Except for that one cop, but even… Stetler was his name had looked the other way in the end.

So really the teenager had expected nothing from this man, even though he made promises to the contrary. Because given the choice between maintaining your reputation and helping some kid who pretty much hated you… well, Kyle knew what he himself would want to choose.

But here Horatio was.

The blond hid his surprise as best as he could.

"I thought you might be hungry," the redhead said gently. He held his hand out for Kyle to see. In the man's grasp was a bagel cut in half, cream cheese slathered liberally on the inside. So much so that it seeped out of the sides of the breading and leaked onto the napkin wrapped around it.

The teenager wasn't hungry, not in the least. It had almost been a day since he'd eaten. The last food he had was the croissant off of the woman's plate… the woman who had been following him. And he made a mental note to figure out just who she was, because Horatio knew her, it seemed, and the blond wanted to know if she had known they were related.

But for now, Kyle turned his mind back to the proffered food. He should be hungry, he guessed, but knowing that he would be going to prison made breakfast seem really not all that important.

The blond shook his head. "Not hungry," he told Horatio.

"All right," the redhead said, but it was clear to Kyle that the man seemed hurt. And for a brief moment, the teenager felt guilty… and then he realized that there was no reason to feel that way.

So the man had done _one_ nice thing. That didn't make up for the past, and maybe, Kyle thought, nothing would ever make up for the hell he had been through.

And it wasn't a conscious act of rebellion or… punishment, the blond told himself. If Horatio could prove himself, could actually show himself to be of some worth, then maybe things could… improve. But in order for that to happen, there'd have to be more than a bagel and tons of cream cheese.

The redhead set the food down on the makeshift bed next to Kyle before sitting on a cot opposite of the teenager. "Okay," Horatio started. "I think… we need to talk about a few things."

Sure, the blond thought. They should talk. Just sit and chat about the weather and _not_ find a way to get him out of prison.

The older man continued before he had a chance to say anything. "Calleigh Duquesne," he started to say.

"Who?" Kyle asked, interrupting.

"The blonde CSI you met earlier." And when the teenager didn't say anything, Horatio pressed on. "She and I reprocessed the apartment building we know the Gannon woman was kept in."

"Oh."

"We discovered some new evidence, Kyle."

The boy looked at the older man at that moment. There was no accusation in his tone, but Kyle didn't think it was a good sign – that they'd discovered new evidence. After all, so far, _nothing_ had gone his way. Why should this new information?

But the blond tried not to let it show, instead focusing his attention onto the bagel next to him. He really wasn't hungry, but it was a distraction, and so he picked at the food.

"Did you know that your friend, Adam –"

"He's not my friend," he said, sounding slightly defensive.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kyle could see Horatio shifting on the cot. "Right," the man drawled. "Well, Mr. Jackson, it turns out, was paid by Michael Gannon to perform the kidnapping."

_That_ definitely grabbed the teen's attention. He looked up at the redhead in surprise, which he didn't even try to hide. "Seriously?"

Horatio nodded his head, looking like he wanted to say so much more. But he only said, "I've shared this information with the prosecutor of your case… and now… we wait."

Kyle gave the man a curt nod before returning to the bagel and ripping off a piece of the chewy crust. Still, he didn't eat it.

"I don't want to get ahead of myself, but –"

But whatever Horatio was going to say had to wait. A woman – the prosecutor – approached their cell, interrupting their conversation.

"Horatio. We need to talk."

The man got up and said to Kyle, "I'll be back soon."

And once again, the teenager was left alone, the bagel unable to distract from that fact.

* * *

Horatio had a son.

Not… a surrogate child like Ray Junior or Madison. But an actual son. Just as she had a son.

It made her head spin. And it seemed like the longer she knew about it, the less understandable it was. Which was saying something, given that Yelina had barely been able to comprehend the words to begin with.

The car came to an abrupt stop in front of her house, but she made no move to get out. She could feel Rick pull his hand off of her lap, could hear him open his door. But all she could think about was Horatio.

Okay, so people made mistakes. But… how had he made _this_ one? Yelina thought quickly back to the file and everything she'd read about Kyle Harmon. That boy had suffered so much, and… her brother-in-law was, in some ways, to blame.

It just made no sense.

The car door jerked open. "Time to get out," Rick told her.

"I… don't understand how…" Choking on her own words, she couldn't finish the thought.

Out of the corner of her eye, Yelina could see Rick lean down, resting one arm on the roof of her car. "Come on," he said quietly. "Let's go inside."

The brunette looked over at him. His dark eyes were soft, a muted brown that she had rarely if ever seen before. And she couldn't help but feel a little at ease.

He reached down and across her lap once more, unbuckling her seat belt. "Come on," Rick ordered once more. "I can't carry you."

Numbly, Yelina nodded in agreement. On legs uneasy, she got out of the car, her heels scuffing on the driveway. And though it probably wasn't smart to go down this territory again, the brunette instinctively reached out for his hand. Thankfully, the dark-haired man laced his fingers through her own.

Perhaps he thought she was going to fall. But the truth was she just… needed that little bit of contact right now. Without it, she felt lost, like the world had suddenly begun to spin in a different direction.

He led her up to the house and used her keys to get inside. Normally when she came home, the moment she stepped through the front door made her feel like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Yelina had never considered herself a home body, but… after everything with Ray and her job and constantly moving, being inside the place where her family lived meant something. It… grounded her, renewed that feeling of purpose, and she didn't feel quite so lost.

But not today. Not now. Not when her own family seemed hell bent on destroying itself with secrets.

How could Horatio do it? How had he allowed this lie to continue for so long, she wondered.

And she realized, as Rick said, "I'm gonna call for a cab," that she really didn't want to hear her brother-in-law's answers. Because nothing he could say would make her feel better or any less betrayed.

Silently, save for the sound of her heels on the tile, the brunette followed Rick into the kitchen. He'd been right the whole time about Horatio.

He'd said that the redhead wasn't perfect, that he hurt her and put her life at risk too many times. But Yelina had refused to listen at the time.

Rick had been right all along.

The weight of the realization forced her to sit uneasily in one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

Now it seemed ridiculous for her to have ever doubted his words. Because not even her loyalty, her _love_, had stopped Horatio from doing this, and it killed her to admit that none of it seemed to matter to her brother-in-law.

And the brunette could no longer trust the idea that the redhead was just insecure with his own feelings or that he would eventually come around. She didn't_ want_ him to come around, anymore. Whatever allure he had once held seemed to be destroyed now.

On the other hand…

Her eyes slid over to Rick, who was standing in her kitchen, her phone cradled between his ear and shoulder. Odd though it was, Yelina felt as though she were seeing the dark-haired man in a whole new light.

When they'd dated, there had been the constant pressure, it seemed, from Horatio to break up with him. The redhead had rarely said anything, but the sister-in-law _knew_ he didn't approve. He talked about giving her space, giving her time. And in reality, it had felt like she was being _punished_ for dating Stetler.

Because of that, there had always been a sense of shame for her, a conflict between being with someone she cared about and doing what Horatio wanted. Yelina mentally tried to count the number of times she'd fought with Rick over something her brother-in-law had done or said.

Too many times to count, she supposed.

But without that influence, the brunette wondered… what would their relationship have been like? What could it have been like?

Yelina wasn't so naïve to think that everything would have been perfect. Stetler could still be an ass, and she had her temper as well. They were a volatile mix at times, but maybe… it didn't_ have_ to be that way.

She let out a soft groan, the sound catching the attention of the man in her kitchen. He started to walk towards her.

No, the brunette told herself. She was _not_ going down that road. There had been a reason they broke up. Reasons that had nothing to do with Horatio or anyone outside of her relationship with Rick. Reaching up, she pressed the palm of her hand hard against her forehead.

She was _not_ going to date this man again, wasn't going to think about this anymore.

But the thought was forced from her mind as Rick stepped behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders. Almost immediately, his fingers began to knead the tense area, but it did little to make her feel better. Instead, the action seemed to only fuel her ambivalence.

"I can't believe this," he said, sounding slightly irritated.

Craning her head upward to see what he was talking about, Yelina could feel her curls cascade over his fingertips, the ringlets becoming trapped between the back of the chair and his body.

The concern must have shown in her eyes, because Rick lightly stroked the soft olive flesh of her cheek.

It was a reminder of one thing the brunette had liked about him when they had been together. Generally speaking, she hated men who tried to take care of her; it always felt so demeaning. And there were many times where Stetler had tried to gain control, and she'd resented that. But there were also moments where it just felt _right_ to give him control. To let him take over, if only because he looked sexier when he did.

And right now, in this particular instance, his almost smarmy paternalism felt nice. Perhaps it was a mistake to lean on someone at a time like this – when she was reeling from another's betrayal. Part of her mind felt like she'd learned nothing at all if she were so willing to turn to Rick.

However, Yelina found herself continually gravitating towards him, and maybe that was because she liked – _envied – _his clear worldview. Jealousy, that he never once had been duped by Horatio, spread through her like an intoxicating drug. It made her feel so much more compliant to anything Rick wanted from her. And the danger she somehow knew lay ahead seemed completely unimportant at the moment. Not when he was being so gentle and good to her.

"They have me on hold," he finally explained.

Her lips formed an o in understanding, but no sound came out. And, as the person on the other end of the line answered his call, Yelina looked back down at her manicured hands, which were lying flat on the table.

She shouldn't want this, shouldn't be interested in Rick again. Especially after he'd _hit _her. After all, the detective in her… had seen too many times how those situations never changed. The dark-haired man had said that he was in anger management, but the truth was… Yelina couldn't believe that he would change immediately. Or anytime soon for that matter.

In the simplest terms possible, she told herself that he'd hit her before. And he would… do it again, and everyone the brunette might talk to about this would say that her decision was easy. Probably that there was no real decision at all.

But it seemed so hard right now to say no to him, even though Yelina supposed he wasn't really asking.

As he told the cab company her address, she had to brace herself against her chair, forced herself to stay where she was. Because the temptation to get up and throw herself back into that relationship was almost too much to bear.

And yet, when Rick hung up the phone, Yelina didn't bother to try and stifle the words that flew from her mouth. Her voice was low, "You asked me earlier… why I didn't go to Horatio for help."

His hands rubbed her shoulders as he told her, "You don't need to –"

"Well, I'm offering to," she said testily. His fingers sliding through her hair, Rick took a seat at the table next to her. "I thought he was dead… I thought Ray was gone. And then…" She searched for the words. "The man who shot my husband was found dead, and it turned out… Ray might be alive after all."

Though it was impossible, her mouth seemed to fill with the bitterness she felt. "And I guess everybody else learned about that as well, because then Ray Junior was kidnapped to bring Ray out of hiding."

"I remember," Rick said.

She brushed a curl out of her face. "After it was over… well, Horatio never said so, but I thought… I thought that my husband had died again. And then Horatio said that I deserved a vacation, and…" She trailed off, not sure she should tell Stetler this part of the story.

"And what?" He reached over for her hand. "What happened?" the dark-haired man asked.

She hesitated for a moment. The truth was something she had no doubt that he would hate. "I thought we were going to go together," Yelina confessed.

Looking at him, the brunette watched as the words sank in. His face contorted from one of confusion to surprise and eventually suppressed anger. He jerked his hand away from hers. And she'd known the rejection would hurt, that the disappointment would sting, but… it still almost took her breath away.

"Well, I guess that answers my question about how quickly you moved on, doesn't it?" he sneered.

"No," she countered, desperate to explain. "It's not like that, Rick."

"Really? Because it sounds to me like we broke up, and then the man that you _finally_ wanted came around, and you jumped –"

"I did not 'jump,'" she snapped. And before they could go another round, Yelina continued. "I didn't! Believe me – I did _not_ just move on like you think." She bit down on her lip. "Whether you actually believe me or not, our relationship meant something to me. It _still_ means something to me."

"Sure."

"I mean that, Rick! You weren't just some… man I dated. I _loved_ you, and I brought you into my home. I let you tuck my son into bed at night. How could that _not_ mean something to me?"

He sighed and seemed to have given up the fight. "So Horatio asked you to go away with him."

"In… not so many words, yes. And I agreed," she said. "Not because I was ready for another relationship, because I really wasn't… but he asked me. And I said yes, because I was honestly in _need_ of a vacation."

Stetler smirked. "And you were afraid Mr. Dreamboat would never ask again if you said no."

"Yes."

That he didn't hit her right away, Yelina thought, was a good sign. Because sadly she had expected him to. After all, Rick had been suspicious of her feelings for Horatio for years; it was, she thought, probably one reason why he'd been so happy to date her. Which was ironic, because to anyone else, it would seem unlikely that two men who hated one another could want the same thing. And yet, she knew it wasn't, because... just as Horatio had taken the title of lieutenant from Rick, Stetler had decided to claim _her_ instead.

Yet she had always denied the accusation – that she was in love with Horatio. The brunette had always said that she respected her brother-in-law, loved him, because he was family, but not because she was attracted to him. And Rick had never really believed the lie, but then again, he rarely seemed intent on getting the truth from her. Perhaps it had scared him – to know for certain that his girlfriend wanted another man.

When the dark-haired man sitting across from her said nothing, she continued. "So… I went with him – and my son – to the airport. And there he was: Ray." She reached forward and grasped his hand. "I couldn't ask Horatio for help, because he was the one who orchestrated the whole thing."

Stetler didn't pull away, which she took to be a good sign. But his words bit into her. "If you didn't want to go, you didn't have to."

"But I did!" she cried. "Ray Junior saw his _father,_and… I have tried for years to make up for that absence in his life. I have told myself so many times how _okay_ we were doing, just the two of us." The tears glistened in her eyes, making it hard to see, but Yelina was determined not to let them fall. "When my son hit the tarmac, it was like seeing this whole other side to him that I thought was _gone. _He was… happy in a way that I can barely remember him being."

"So you got on the plane."

"Of course, I did!" she said, acting as though there were no other options. Probably because she didn't think there were. "I was not ready for that – to suddenly be… Mrs. Raymond Caine again, but I did it. For my child… what else was I supposed to do?"

Yelina looked away from him, holding her breath and awaiting his answer. But none ever came, and some part of her let out a sigh of relief. That Rick had no… immediate come back, no solution that she should have seen, put her somewhat at ease.

At the same time, though, there was a little piece of her that would like to know there had been some alternative. Weird though it was, the brunette needed to believe that… if she'd done something differently, she would have been able to avoid that year in Rio. She needed to know that she hadn't been destined to lose her husband again, fated to lose the closeness with her brother-in-law and son.

Maybe there was no point in knowing how things could have been different, she conceded. But… accepting that Yelina had had _no choice_ in what happened, that she had been doomed to lose nearly everything because of her husband? It would fill her with a sadness she couldn't bear to feel. And worse than that, she'd feel helpless, completely inept at protecting her family.

So there just simply had to have been a way… but what could it be?

What was she supposed to do? What did she do wrong?

How was she to protect her family?

_End (26/??)_


	27. Chapter 26: An Understanding

Author's Notes: Thanks to Shining Zephyr, lovehy, and RedHotLover for the reviews, as well as to my beta, Olly, for her help.

As always, please read and review.

Disclaimer: I don't own the show.

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Twenty-Six: An Understanding**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_Resolve, and thou art free." – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_

The hum of the appliances and a nearby clock ticking did little to ease the silence settling in between them. For her part, Yelina was determined not to say anything; Stetler was the kind of man who didn't like to talk before he was ready. And though she'd had no problem ignoring that fact in the past, now was not one of those days where she felt like initiating the conversation. Because who knew what the dark-haired man would say.

Every so often, her hazel eyes glanced over at him to see if she could tell which version of Rick she would encounter. She hoped that he would understand, that he would listen to what the brunette had said and_ believe_ her. It didn't seem like a foolish request; he could be a wonderful man when he wanted to be. And she could only pray that this was the side of him he would show her.

But realistically… Yelina thought that it was unlikely. Maybe, she thought, she was just expecting the worst. Perhaps he _would_ be understanding, but what it all amounted to was that nothing he could have done would have kept her here for that period of time. That if she was destined to be in Rio, then he was doomed to lose her.

How he would react to that made her uneasy. On the one hand, did the brunette really want her ex-boyfriend to be… content with losing her? A large part of her knew that they had broken up for good reason, but that didn't mean Yelina believed that there had been _nothing_ in their relationship worth mourning. And she knew that if he felt differently, it would sting worse than any slap he'd given her ever could.

Nonetheless, if Stetler became angry, possibly violent – well, the brunette didn't want that either.

"Okay," he finally said, nodding his head up and down.

Her eyes trained on him almost immediately, searching. But the I.A.B. agent gave away nothing, and so she asked, "'Okay?'"

"Yup." It was a simple answer but one that told her nothing. She thought it might have sounded non-committal, but then again, Stetler might easily be conserving his energy for a huge fight.

And Yelina tried to figure out which it might be, her body feeling tense in the chair.

But whatever she was expecting didn't happen.

The silence between them was broken by the sound of the taxi outside honking its horn. Stetler stood up, and she waited, her entire body on edge. All he did though was stand up.

As he walked passed her, the dark-haired man leaned down, pressing his warm lips to her cool forehead. It was more reassuring than anything else he'd done over the years, and it was enough to have her reaching out, grabbing his arm with her hands.

"Are you mad?" she asked, her voice unsure.

He shrugged. "Not really, no." She could feel her brow furrowing, her mouth turning down into a frown. It made no sense that he wouldn't care – made even less sense that she _wanted_ him to. Eventually, Rick added, "I've… been trying to learn not to get upset over things I can't change."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Anger management," he explained. "It doesn't always work… obviously."

A chuckle got caught in her throat. The admittance was almost funny, but the stinging reminder that was her thigh took nearly all of the humor out of it. "Right," she said.

The taxi honked its horn again, and Rick sighed. "Look," he began simply. "I don't like what you did – and part of me is always gonna wonder what would have happened between us if you hadn't moved to Brazil."

Yelina sighed sadly, nodding her head in agreement. It was a question that plagued her mind as well.

"But I guess it's pointless, huh? To think about what might have been," he conceded.

"I guess," she said quietly. And there was a brief pause before the brunette figuratively walked into the territory that she had been trying to avoid. "But maybe… we could see what… happens this time." Her voice was soft but stilted, sounding just as she felt – unsure that she should be saying it. Unsure if she meant it.

Because Yelina was more than aware of his problems, and maybe it was foolish to want to go down that road again. Especially since her son would_ hate_ it.

But then again, Ray Junior had pushed Horatio towards her for so long, had wanted that relationship to come together. And now the brunette doubted that it could have ever worked, given her brother-in-law's insecurities and inadequacies.

Rick might be abusive at times, she decided, but at least he was straightforward with his problems for the most part. There might be the constant wondering that something would go wrong, that she would push him too far. But at least he didn't lull her into a false sense of security and then easily shatter the peace.

In the end, Yelina thought that she expected problems in any relationship. And at least there was no lie from Rick about what he was capable of. With Horatio… well, she just didn't know anymore, did she? She just had no idea what the redhead could or would do to her.

Looking up at the dark-haired man standing next to her, she waited to see what he would say.

He sighed in what appeared to be exasperation. "I think that would be a bad idea," he said simply. And then after a moment's hesitation, Rick told her, "But… I've missed you, Ellie."

"I know."

Leaning down once more, he kissed her on the lips. It was chaste, polite… dismissive.

"All right," he said. "I'll call you later." Another kiss to her forehead, a sharp, "Be good," and Rick left.

And between the mix of emotions – defiance, anger, resentment, relief – Yelina couldn't help but feel just a little bit empty.

* * *

Horatio closed the door to his office right after Rebecca walked through it. Watching her, he noticed how she glanced around the room, her lips curling up in disdain.

"Did you sleep in here?" The prosecutor spun around, her arms folded across her chest.

"We worked on the case throughout the night," the redhead explained. "Is that a problem?" He knew it was probably wrong to sound so… combative, but the truth was Horatio wanted this to be over with quickly. Because every second she spent chatting about how messy his office was or something else was another moment where his son had to be in the holding cell.

"It is, actually." Rebecca started to lean back against his desk, but noticing the mounds of paperwork on the tabletop, she thought better of it. "I need you and Calleigh Duquesne to be reliable witnesses. And right now, all I see is evidence that you two are overworked and tired."

He frowned and glanced at her, his blue eyes looking at her sadly. "Rebecca, our test results can be trusted."

"That's what _you_ might believe, and it may even be true, Horatio. But a defense attorney would pick you apart over this."

You don't need to worry about me," he said.

"I'm not," she told him, her voice filled with honesty. "But I am concerned with how that will affect my case." The redhead chuckled mirthlessly. So _that's_ what it was all really about for her. "I know you think that I'm only interested in maintaining my stats."

"And why would I think that?" he asked sarcastically.

Rebecca rolled her eyes. "I like to win. I won't deny that," she said defiantly. "But I'm also aware of what having good win-lose statistics means. Years ago, when we dated, I was forced to make certain deals that I didn't necessarily want to make."

"Really?" He wasn't sure whether or not he could believe that.

"You think I like – _liked –_ the idea of putting a cop killer back out on the streets?"

Horatio didn't bother to hide his hesitation right then. It was a hurtful thing to do, which part of him could accept was wrong. And maybe it was even worse to do it now when Kyle was in jail. But at the same time, the redhead couldn't let his disappointment over that situation go.

Even though it turned out Ray hadn't died in that shooting, the feelings from that time had lingered on. And even putting his brother aside, there had been other cops – nearly countless men and women who had paid the ultimate price for trying to do their jobs. There were some Horatio had never met, but that didn't mean their deaths hadn't weighed heavily on his mind.

It bothered him that there were individuals who had no problem killing someone who merely happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. And worse still were the people who could look at those situations and willingly make deals – regardless of the reason – with that kind of criminal.

So perhaps he could have been more mature; maybe Horatio should have handled this situation better. But there were some things that still affected him. Yes, he had a son in need, and that mattered to him as well.

However, Kyle was a new addition, someone the redhead… hadn't gotten used to thinking of first, in all honesty. And once more, Horatio couldn't help but think that he was a horrible father.

But… it wasn't easy adjusting to this new way of life, and maybe some relics from his past were bound to remain a part of him.

At that moment, the father couldn't stifle the thought that it was _so _hypocritical of him to want his son to be any other way. To want his son to willingly welcome him with open arms and to… forget about the past entirely. To ask his child to do things that he himself could not – maybe even _would not_ – do.

"I guess you do believe that," Rebecca said sadly, interrupting his thoughts. "That's useful information. _Thank you_ for letting me know." Her usually strong voice sounded hurt, betrayal rounding off the edge of each word.

He sighed in exasperation. They didn't have time to deal with this. "You said you were going to prosecute Kyle. But I think it's pretty clear that no jury would convict him based on the evidence we just handed you."

She shook her head. "Horatio, you think your son is innocent? Because last I checked he _still _helped kidnap a woman."

"The boy was blackmailed," he told her, imploring Rebecca to see reason.

"Yes, I know. But there were any number of times when Kyle could have reached out for help. And he _didn't._ You can't honestly believe that he had no choice but to go along with this plan."

Horatio sighed once again. In this instance, Rebecca was right, giving voice to something the redhead had tried not to think about.

"You care about him, I get it. But isn't there a larger question here? Doesn't it matter that Kyle Harmon _is_a criminal, no matter how he's related to you? And regardless of how he got involved, doesn't he deserve some punishment for that?"

She took a step forward, narrowing the gap between them.

"Maybe," Horatio conceded. "But you cut a deal with the other two teenagers involved in the kidnapping. Don't _they_ deserve to be punished as well?"

Rebecca hesitated before revealing, "I pulled their deals after reading your evidence."

"And are they being charged as adults?"

"No." But before he could respond, she added, "But then again, neither of the other two teenagers have any priors. Kyle does."

"Small things," Horatio tried to argue.

"Maybe so, but the escalation in his crimes alone tells me that I shouldn't treat him like just another kid who made a few bad decisions. And when I have no assurances that he won't do something like this again –"

"You have me."

The three simple words were followed by stark silence, as though the two of them were beginning to realize just how meaning his words had been.

"So then you're going to take this teenager into your home."

The redhead murmured his assent. "I am," he said more clearly.

"Well… that's great, I guess. But…" there was something in her voice, a sadness, that disturbed him. "I'm not sure that's enough. I mean – this kid has to have serious problems. How do you know that your presence alone will help him?"

She tapped her right fingers nervously against her left wrist. "If anything, I think letting him go free." She stopped speaking, as she obviously searched for the right words to say. "Even just letting him plea down – won't that teach him that he can get away with anything? That he won't have to face the consequences of his actions because his father is a cop?"

Horatio hadn't thought of it that way, but still… how could he let his own kid sit in a prison cell. "I'm not asking you to ignore what the boy has done. He has obviously broken the law, made some mistakes, and I will do everything in my power to make sure that he sees what he's done. And learns from it.

"But," he said in irritation. "Trying him as an adult is not the answer." Horatio shifted on his feet. While he needed Rebecca to agree with him, his patience was wearing thin. "He needs to be punished? Fine. But there is nothing about him that suggests he is little more than a menace to society."

"So you believe there's some hope for him?"

"I know that if the boy goes to prison, there is no hope. He'll get out in a matter of years, and _then_ we'll have a real problem on our hands."

It took Rebecca some time to respond. She seemed to mull over his words, and that gave him some hope, because at least she wasn't just turning him down. Finally, the prosecutor told him, "Okay. I'll put his case on the juvenile prosecutor's desk. And, as long as your son agrees to testify against the other teenagers in the case, he'll get probation. Till he's 18, of course. Kyle won't be able to drive or get a license, if he doesn't have one already." She stopped speaking for a minute, but there was no doubt in Horatio's mind that there was more. Rattling requirements off the top of her head (at least it seemed that way), she continued, "He'll have to maintain a 3.5 grade point average, do a thousand hours of community service, and he'll have an 8 pm curfew. This isn't going to be house arrest; Harmon's going to be expected to go out into the community and learn how to deal with his issues in a constructive manner."

Horatio nodded his head as she listed caveat after caveat. It was a lot to be held accountable for, and the redhead knew that if the boy had a bad day, did something stupid, his future would be over. So it would just be Horatio's job to make sure that didn't happen.

"Also, you'll have to agree to custody," she added. "I mean it, Horatio. You seem so convinced that this boy has some… hidden goodness. So it'll be your job to find that. No one else's." The warning tone in her voice was not missed by him.

"I wouldn't have it any other way, Rebecca."

"He messes up – and I mean in any way – if any of the conditions are broken – I will make it my personal mission to make sure Kyle spends the rest of his high school days in juvy."

And as he accepted what she was telling him, the redhead thought of something. 'I think I need to speak to the juvenile prosecutor."

She scoffed at the comment, however. "You think I'm being too harsh?"

"I think… you can't make a deal out of your jurisdiction."

"Horatio," she began slowly. "The juvy D.A. and I are… well, we're dating," Rebecca said, as though that explained everything. "Unlike some people, he trusts my judgment. If I tell him that this kid should have these conditions, then he'll do that."

This arrangement made the redhead feel uneasy. There was a reason why there were checks and balances, separate spheres in the legal system. But at the same time… part of him had to admit that this situation made it easier to get what he wanted.

And the lieutenant inside of him was slightly miffed at the idea of… accepting something less than just for his own personal gain. No doubt, Horatio was sure that at some point he would feel guilty about this. That there would, in the future, be a kid who would be penalized for this situation.

But right now, the only person who mattered was Kyle. And any other concerns would have to wait.

"All right," the redhead said in agreement.

"You'll have to fill out some paper work. Kyle won't need to sign them, since I guess technically you automatically have custody and are therefore the one in charge of any legal decisions."

"How quickly can we make this happen?" The impatience seeped through every syllable.

"I can get Vernon down here in fifteen minutes. But a judge will take longer."

Looking down at his wristwatch, Horatio could understand why. Noon had just hit, which meant everyone would be out for lunch. "Think we could get squeezed in before one?"

Rebecca frowned before walking towards the door. Jerking it open, she turned and told him, "I'll see what I can do." And hope began to fill him. This would soon be over, he thought to himself. "By the way," she said almost nonchalantly. "When we were dating, I always thought that you were… you know, kind of boring. Bland. For what it's worth – keeping a bastard son from your family? That's pretty cold of you. But like I said, I'll see what I can do. Keep your pager near by."

His door clattered shut, his mind reeling. Horatio silently went about picking apart what she'd said. So Rebecca had thought he was boring. That didn't surprise him much. The redhead had never really told her more than he was comfortable with. Which made him seem pretty bland and straight-laced. It was what he'd wanted, he supposed.

Moving along, leafing through her words, he paused at "keeping a bastard son from your family." Horatio balked at the use of the word, bastard. And there was no doubt in his mind that it had been used to upset him.

But then he moved away from the offensive term. And he realized that she'd used it to mask a different truth. A little voice inside of him whispered: there was no way she could know whether or not his family knew unless she'd talked to them. Because without that special knowledge, one might assume that everyone else had known about Kyle and had agreed to keep his existence a secret.

Rebecca hadn't said that though. She'd known that he'd kept it from Yelina and Ray Junior.

And then the image of Yelina at the police station popped into his mind.

His sister-in-law had been there. She'd been in an area where Rebecca could easily talk to her. And at that point in the day, the prosecutor had been furious with him for allegedly trying to hoodwink a deal for Kyle with Stetler.

So there it was: motive and opportunity _and _a revealing statement.

And the reality hit him like a punch in the pit of his stomach.

Yelina knew the truth.

_End (27/??)_


	28. Chapter 27: The Exact Nature of Things

Author's Notes: A very special thanks to RedHotLover for the wonderful review and regular encouragement. Also thanks to my beta, Olly, for taking on this massive project with me.

As always, please review.

_Disclaimer: I don't own the show so don't sue. _

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Exact Nature of Things**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_To cheat oneself out of love is the most terrible deception; it is an eternal loss for which there is no reparation, either in time or in eternity." – Soren Kierkegaard_

He stood in the musky office, his entire body paralyzed with the realization.

Yelina knew, because Ray Junior would be at school (in theory, anyway), and there would be no way (again, in theory) to reach him. And even if the teenager had cut class, it certainly wouldn't be Rebecca's first assumption to call _him. _

Which meant that the only family member she could talk to was Yelina.

And now she knew the truth.

The words hadn't come from him, like he'd wanted to.

Instead of telling her as delicately as possible, she'd heard it probably in the worst way imaginable.

This was all wrong.

This was not what he'd wanted.

This was just… bad on so many levels that his mind spun with all the ways he couldn't even begin to fix it.

Yelina would never speak to him again. That was, of course, assuming that she didn't just outright move and neglect to tell him where they were going. Which hinged on the brunette not already having a plan to kill him.

Despite himself, Horatio couldn't help but imagine her sharpening her knives right now.

And the redhead wondered if there was really anyway that he could calm her down. He refused to think about how he could "make it up to her," because God only knew there was no way to do that.

A knot began to form in the pit of his stomach. She must hate him now, and there was going to be nothing he could do about it. In his efforts to protect her, he had failed to do the one thing that would have been remotely kind. Instead of telling her and breaking her heart in person – instead of performing that one little act of decency – Horatio had paved the way for Rebecca to tell her instead.

He sighed. Sometimes it felt like no matter what he did, that no matter how hard he might try, there was always… something that made it impossible for him to have a normal relationship with Yelina.

The feeling of defeat wrapped itself around him, smothering him with a palpable despair.

And the redhead wondered if it was even worth driving over to his sister-in-law's house to see if she would grant him the time to apologize. Especially since Rebecca would soon contact him, hopefully, to say that they had a judge, it seemed foolish to leave the building now. Besides, as ridiculous as it might be, Horatio wanted to stay with his son, wanted to keep Kyle company. Because it felt wrong not to.

But it felt equally wrong to ignore the situation with Yelina now.

She knew the truth, and he couldn't… deny that or push it off anymore. And the longer he tried to do that, the angrier she would become. Which made it a fact: the more time passed, the less likely it would ever be that their family could heal itself once more.

And so once more, he would have to choose.

How had his life become such a mess?

Sadly, Horatio thought he knew the answer. He hadn't been confident enough to ask Yelina out, and Raymond had gotten to her first. And… from there everything seemed to go downhill.

Worst of all, the redhead couldn't even begin to consider the what ifs. Because there was no doubt in his mind that his brother's marriage was probably the one thing that had kept Raymond happy and content for so long. And without the grounding force that was his sister-in-law, his brother would have been lost to them all much sooner.

Any other scenario – Horatio getting to Yelina first, for instance – seemed so wrong to him, as it always had. Because doing so would have killed Ray. And though the redhead didn't like the way things had turned out, his happiness seemed like a fair price to pay to keep his brother alive.

He sighed, knowing that going down that road wouldn't help him now. And so Horatio mentally pulled himself out of the abyss staring back at him. Right now, all that mattered was deciding between staying here with Kyle or driving to Yelina's and begging for forgiveness.

Taking a deep breath, the redhead decided to mentally list the advantages and disadvantages of each choice. It was stupid, he knew. The answer should be obvious if he were even a remotely decent parent or brother-in-law. But then again, if he were good at either of those roles, Horatio knew he wouldn't be in this position.

If he were to stay, the redhead would be around when Rebecca called, and maybe… if he were really lucky, Kyle would see how dedicated he was to being a father. On the other hand, there wasn't anything to do right now. Horatio understood that he was helpless, relegated to standing around. And there was a good chance his son wouldn't appreciate him doing that.

So maybe it made sense to go explain the truth to Yelina. If he left now, she would at least see that he was sorry – instead of reliving the moment of betrayal in her head over and over again. The brother-in-law knew that she wouldn't forgive him immediately, that this would merely be a start. But that was surely better than doing_nothing_ to make things better. Right?

Unless she was so angry that his presence would only agitate her further. In which case, it only made sense to stay away.

And when it was all said and done, Horatio thought, listing advantages and disadvantages hadn't helped at all.

But nonetheless, a decision had to be made.

Vacillating back and forth, the redhead told himself that if push came to shove, he'd have to flip a coin – as horrible as that would be.

But the choice was taken out of his hands as his cell phone rang, the shrill tone destroying the weary silence.

"Horatio," he said mechanically.

"It's me," Rebecca said, her familiar voice carrying over the phone.

"Do you have something?"

"I was supposed to have a hearing for one of my cases at 1:30, but the defendant killed himself so now there's an opening. Of course, Judge Watkins doesn't like walk-ins, but I pulled some strings."

"All right," he said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

"Someone from the public defender's office will be on their way soon. You'll be able to get them up to speed. But the hearing's at 1:30. Don't screw me over on this, Horatio."

And before he could even reassure her, Rebecca had hung up the phone.

Stuffing the cell back into his pocket, Horatio realized then that the decision was no longer in his own hands. There was no way he could go to Yelina's house and make it back in time to talk to the lawyer, brief Kyle on what was going to happen, and make the hearing.

It just wasn't going to be possible. Which meant once again, his sister-in-law would be getting the shaft.

But just as he was about to accept his fate, an idea popped into his head.

Snatching his cell phone from his pocket once more, he dialed Yelina's number. An apology would be better offered in person, the redhead knew, but at the moment this was the best he could do.

To his dismay, there was no answer.

When the answering machine picked up, Horatio tried to leave a message, the words being forced from his throat. "Hi, it's me… I think we need to talk. I – look – I know I was wrong, but… give me a chance to explain. All right? I'll stop by later."

There was no denying that it sounded lame, the redhead thought. And maybe he should have considered his words more before actually placing the call, he realized then. But it would have to do for now, no matter how inadequate or ineloquent it might be.

Horatio wondered briefly where Yelina could have been, and then he remembered – Stetler had seen her as well. The proverbial alarm bells started going off in his head, and part of him wanted to hunt the I.A.B. agent down, even though there was, technically, no proof of any wrongdoing.

But the redhead stopped himself as he wrenched open the door.

He needed to see his son and the boy's lawyer. That was his job now. Making sure Kyle didn't go to jail – that was what mattered.

And everything and everyone else would just have to wait.

* * *

Rick had told her to be good, but right now all Yelina wanted to be was bad.

The leftover wine in the fridge called to her. Her taste buds had begun to salivate for the hints of cherry and oak and pain being numbed. An alcoholic she was not; the lack of control made her feel uneasy. And after watching her husband go down that path of giving everything that mattered up for the next high, Yelina was always wary of depending on things that had no hope of offering any real happiness or relief.

But right now, when she was all alone with no one to stop her from thinking about just how Horatio had betrayed her, the brunette could see the appeal. And Yelina thought that if it hadn't been for her time with Ray, she would have given into the bottle that seemed to cry for her.

Of course, then the question became what it was she _should_ do with all of her pent up anger. Her preferred method, cleaning, was out. After all, the brunette had scrubbed every single surface from top to bottom only the day before. And while she could do it again, it would seem unsatisfying and offer little relief for the pain she felt gnawing at her.

As a result, the brunette still sat at the kitchen table.

She felt paralyzed now more than ever by the news. It kept replaying in her mind – Horatio had a son. And now there wasn't even Stetler to distract her from that horrible fact.

Thinking back to the teenager she had watched, Yelina thought it was almost obvious – their relation. The boy might have had blond hair and brown eyes. The similarity wasn't as obvious as it had been when she'd first seen Madison Keaton. There was no telling red hair, but there was something so familiar about his looks.

She tried to recall just how Kyle Harmon appeared, tried to remember every little detail of his face. It took a few minutes, but piece by piece, she was able to bring his image to mind. And mentally looking over his face once more, Yelina could see that the boy had gotten his father's lips and the shape of his face and eyes.

And when there was so much alike between the two, the brunette felt foolish for having been unable to see it before. They… were really father and son.

Despite the circumstances, a tiny smile played on her lips. Horatio had a son. She hated to think it, but… some part of her couldn't deny that maybe under different circumstances, she would be happy for her brother-in-law. Even now, even after everything, the brunette could feel a sense of warmth and _joy_ even, trying to burst through the hurt and anger that seemed to pervade her senses.

That boy was her nephew.

And Horatio had a son, someone to love and care for, like she did. The physical similarities made it seem all the more poignant.

But it was a feeling short-lived, because then the detective remembered the file she had on Kyle Harmon. This wasn't at all like her relationship with Ray Junior, she realized. And to think that it might even come close to resembling that was offensive. Because Yelina had been there for her child through _everything._ From the very moment he had been conceived to the little boy taking his first steps and every second in between and afterwards. She'd sacrificed and fought and cradled and done _everything_ imaginable for her baby.

Horatio, on the other hand, might have been a father, but he wasn't a_ father._ His own son had been tossed into an unstable family and then into foster care. He'd watched his own mother be _murdered_. And her brother-in-law hadn't been around for any of it. Either he'd known all along that this little boy was out there and had done nothing – or Horatio hadn't known the truth, and his ignorance had cost the boy his mother.

It amounted to the same thing in her mind, she knew, no matter the circumstances. And it made this situation completely different from her own parent-child bond and entirely unforgivable.

Letting out a mirthless laugh, Yelina thought even her screw up husband had done more than Horatio. And no one in their right mind would say that Ray Caine had ever been the world's best dad. He'd gone undercover when their son was a little boy and then became a drug addict. He'd faked his own death and then reappeared only to die again.

No, no one would say that her husband had been a great father, sadly.

And it was this thinking – about her son and husband, that brought the conversation from earlier to the forefront of her mind.

What exactly had Ray Junior said?

She tried to replay the conversation in her head, which was hard to do. Her mind seemed frozen, completely numb from Horatio's new son.

But pushing through, Yelina remembered. "Your uncle asked me to investigate a teenager. I did some background on his family," she had told her son only hours earlier. And then the mother had asked, completely oblivious at the time, "How does your father fit into this?"

She'd forgotten, but somehow Ray Junior had known the truth. "I told you," he'd said almost annoyed. "One of his ex-girlfriends is –"

"And who would that be?" she had asked.

"Julia Alvarez."

Her mind worked quickly to put the pieces together. Julia Alvarez had been Raymond's girlfriend – the one he'd lost his virginity too, if Yelina recalled correctly. And Julia was Kyle's mother. Which meant that…

Horatio had slept with Julia, a woman who Ray had also dated.

Realization overwhelmed her senses, gripped her throat tightly, and refusing to let go. She was hyperventilating; the only thing keeping her tied to reality was the fury that seemed to be unleashed. Rage like she had never seen before from herself seemed to seep from every pore, could be felt as deep as her marrow.

Horatio had a son; he'd done this to her, and she wanted to kill him for it. And he could apologize till the ends of the earth, but it wouldn't matter.

Because Yelina was done.

No more apologies, no more half steps towards a relationship. No more telling herself that he would come around. No more letting him waltz in and out of her life when it became too intimate for him.

She was tired of the back and forth, the little give and immense take.

And when he called, leaving a message, saying that he would be over to explain what had happened, Yelina could only whisper, "You're too late."

_End (28/??)_


	29. Chapter 28: Free to be Miserable

Author's Notes: Thanks to RedHotLover and lovehy for the reviews. As I've said before, reviews mean the world to me, so anytime I get one, I really appreciate it. Major thanks to my beta, Olly. Your feedback always helps me figure out what it is I'm trying to say.

_Disclaimer: The show isn't mine. _

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Free to be Miserable**  
_by Duckie Nicks_

"_Never look down on anybody, unless you are going to help them up." – Reverend Jesse Jackson_

The benches in court just had to be uncomfortable, he thought. At least more so than usual. God forbid he be relaxed in _any_ way. Horatio shifted in his seat as the judge entered the room, and everyone briefly stood up. The time between Rebecca's call and now had passed so quickly, almost too fast. And he realized then, as he moved again, causing the wood to creak, that maybe it wasn't the bench at all.

He was… nervous, worried about what would happen next. Kyle had eagerly taken the deal. Thinking about it now, the redhead remembered how the boy's eyes had opened in shock, and their muddy color had cleared, brightened, ever so slightly.

Horatio had understood – the teenager hadn't expected him to do anything. Which hurt a little, but the father told himself that it would take a while for… his _son_ come around. Odd though it was to say that. But in the end, the boy had signed the papers, which was all that mattered at the moment.

So too had the lawyers taken the deal eagerly. Of course, a public defender – especially ones who were stuck taking juvenile cases – was always anxious for a deal. And through Rebecca's machinations, _Vernon_ had also seemed eager.

But it all seemed too… easy. Not that Horatio wasn't happy; he just didn't trust things that came without conflict. It made him think that he was doing something wrong.

Then again, he _had_ had to fight for this deal, just not in that moment. And he shouldn't forget that – he told himself. He'd gone toe to toe with Calleigh and Rebecca to get this. Even if it felt easy now, Horatio had to admit that it really _hadn't_ been so simple. It was that thought that gave the redhead a little relief from the nearly oppressive feeling that something was about to go wrong.

As the judge began to start the proceedings, Horatio began to understand that… there were many people he could manipulate – and with Rebecca's help, had manipulated. But the _judge_ was one person who would act completely on their own volition. Which meant that if he thought Kyle wasn't worth it, then…. There was absolutely no hope for the boy.

However, it was with the relief that the judge, an older man with gray hair and a kind face, accepted the plea bargain.

And it hit Horatio then: Kyle was free, and now they would have to find some way… to live together.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The blond sat in the Hummer silently. Despite the nice cushy seats, Kyle thought he'd never been more uncomfortable.

It seemed like a dream… or a nightmare; he decided it was too early to tell. But after everything that had happened, he wasn't going to jail. Or juvenile detention even, he thought almost happily.

However, the idea of going to live with his father, as though it were completely natural, made him feel uneasy. Was he going to be expected to automatically love this man?

It wasn't that Kyle didn't appreciate what Horatio had done. But it was something else entirely to view him as a father. Maybe that would happen eventually, the blond thought. Could that even be learned, he wondered.

Perhaps not, Kyle conceded, but certainly it was stupid to expect him to love Daddy Dearest because of one act.

In any case, the boy was determined to keep his mouth shut. Until he understood what Horatio wanted, he decided that it was best to be quiet. Wait the man out.

And thankfully, the redhead was the first one to break the silence. "We'll need to stop by your foster home," he said simply.

Kyle didn't look at the man driving the car. He wasn't sure what to say to that, and honestly, if anything, he felt a little nervous. The way the blond had understood it, he'd be living with Horatio – not going back to his foster family. But… maybe he'd heard them wrong? Why else would they be going to that dreaded house?

"We need to pick up your things," the redhead finally explained.

And though the blond didn't like to admit it, he couldn't help but feel just a little relieved by that. Finally he said, "Not much to pick up."

They fell into silence once more, the only sound coming from a corvette driving next to them playing rap music. The longer they stayed that way, the surer Kyle was that this was nothing but a mistake.

They might have been related biologically, but that was it. There were no memories for either of them, and so much time had passed – no, _too_ much time had passed from when Kyle had been born. How could they even begin to make up for lost time?

And even the idea of doing something like that upset the blond a little bit. They couldn't just railroad over those missing years, couldn't ignore what had happened in the past.

If his father had really wanted to be around, had truly wanted to be a father, then there had been a perfect time for that. And now wasn't it.

The teenager let the resentment build within himself but said nothing. And eventually Horatio pulled up to the house where all of this began. Kyle had never really noticed it before, but from the outside, the home looked perfect.

Unlike so many other places in Miami, this one stood out as looking like an old-fashioned colonial home. It was big, a pristine white with black shudders. The yard was expertly manicured with nicely trimmed verdant grass and rose bushes of many colors. The only thing that was missing from the home was a white picket fence, and then it would have looked like something out of a catalogue called "The American Dream."

And for the most part, Kyle thought that the inside didn't belie that. Both parents were successful at what they did. Their daughter was hot, and they had extra bonus points from taking a few "troubled" teens in out of the goodness of their hearts. Really, the only thing that made the place imperfect was their skank daughter and the fact that they'd slept together.

Not a lot of time had passed since the blond had been there last, but he was sure that the rest of the family had learned that horrible truth by now. Which only made him reluctant to get out of the car. His hand hovering over the door handle, Kyle couldn't quite find the nerve to turn it. It was just… so much had happened, and the teenager _really_ didn't want to know how angry his foster family was.

Of course, it wasn't his fault, he justified to himself. But that wouldn't make their accusations any easier. He swallowed hard, vacillating between the need for his things and the desire to just stay away.

Perhaps sensing this, Horatio turned to him. "I can get your things for you, if you'd prefer."

It was an offer Kyle had to think about, because it was, in fact, pretty tempting. As much as he knew how to respond in a fight, the last thing he wanted to do was to actually get into one. In the very least, it would suck to have to get into a brawl with the people who had been responsible for him. And at the worst, it might mean his deal would be taken from him. And having gone through that once, the blond had no desire to see prison again any time soon.

He turned to face Horatio. "No. I can do it." Besides, the teenager told himself as he hopped out of the Hummer, he didn't exactly like the idea of this man – a stranger really – touching his things.

The redhead confidently strode up the front walk leading to the white porch. Kyle didn't feel quite as self-assured. After all, it wasn't like he had a badge and gun on him to keep him safe. So he preferred to slowly, reluctantly, close the distance to the front door, even if it totally made him look like a weakling. Horatio rang the door bell, and they waited in silence until someone came to them.

Deana's mother, Sandra, answered the door. And her reaction was pretty much what he'd expected. Her dark eyes immediately trained on him. "You have a lot of nerve showing up here after doing what you did."

Kyle opened his mouth to say something. Her words cut deeply; funny how you could live with someone for a while, and they'd still turn on you quickly. And it wasn't hard to see why he was having such a hard time dealing with the prospect of living with Horatio. Because… a very great part of him thought that as soon as he did something wrong, the redhead would cut and run.

And the only way to quiet the voice that kept repeating that in his head was to get loud. His hackles were being raised; anger burned in the back of his throat, and Kyle was more than willing to give into the rage that so badly wanted out.

But whatever he was going to say was hushed by Horatio interrupting. "We just came to pick up the boy's things."

She turned to look at the redhead, her eyes narrowing angrily on him. "You think he has any right to the items _we_ bought for him?"

Kyle looked to the older man to see what he would do. But Horatio merely nodded his head. "I understand," he said quietly. And then after a moment, he asked, "But what if I were to pay you for those things?"

His now former foster mother seemed to think this over before finally saying yes. The adults moved inside the house to work out the final details, leaving Kyle to go get his things from the place he had lived.

Entering the smallest room in the house, the teenager quickly went about collecting his clothes and stuffing them into his book bag. It bothered him – only days previously, they had almost treated him like a son. And now he was nothing more than an enemy, someone they had to hate.

Yes, he'd pretty much known it would happen. Aside from human nature, they had learned that Kyle had slept with Deana and that he'd implicated their daughter in a crime. So… it hadn't been surprising.

But that didn't make it any easier to take. And the truth was – it sucked. Because they had said, when he'd first come to live with him, that their home would be different. They had sat him down on the couch where Horatio probably was right now and had told him that they didn't believe in tossing kids out every time they did something wrong. That this would be different.

And Kyle hadn't believed them then, but at some point maybe he'd learned to.

But it was gone now. He couldn't return here ever again, could barely even get the things that belonged to him without suffering their wrath. And… it just sucked.

Sighing, Kyle grabbed the rest of his things and went downstairs. It didn't matter, he told himself. They could hate him, and that was fine.

It didn't matter.

It didn't even hurt at all.

_End (29/??)_


	30. Chapter 29: Sons

Author's Notes: Thanks to Little Horatio for the review. Believe me, we'll definitely get well and beyond thirty chapters. Special thanks to my beta, Olly, for her hard work. It means the world to me. Please read and review.

_Disclaimer: I don't own the show so don't sue me._

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Sons**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_Children find everything in nothing; men find nothing in everything." – Giacomo Leopardi_

"We'll get you registered for school on Monday," Horatio said once they were back in the car. "Tomorrow we'll go down to social services to file some paperwork… to make sure that the necessary people understand that you are… well, that you're in my custody now."

Kyle didn't know what to say in response so he remained quiet. The prospect of a new school was one thing. He didn't really want to change schools, but maybe a "fresh start" – as though that were even possible – would help. No doubt Deana's father had bailed her out, and where they'd gone to school together… she'd been popular, and he'd been an outsider. Which would make things that much harder. So perhaps it was for the best.

He could do that – get used to a new school.

But going down to social services seemed like something else entirely. The whole idea made him… _twitchy,_ like a, for a lack of better words, criminal being interrogated

Would they ask him what he thought about Horatio? If his answers weren't acceptable, would that mean they would take Kyle away – and breaking his deal in the process?

And maybe _he_ could lie well enough. The teenager thought tomorrow he'd probably brush his usually messy blond locks down, so that he looked ridiculous but innocent. And the nameless faces of social services (who should have been more interested in his case but never were) would ask him what he thought about finding his father. And Kyle would lie like he'd never lied before. "Well, gee, sir/madam, it's been kind of shocking! Finding out you have a dad and all." He would pause right there, make it seem like he was really touched by the whole scenario before finishing. "But Horatio's been awful nice, and I would _love_ to live with him. He's the bestest dad ever!"

The teenager smirked inwardly. Yeah, he had that part down pat.

But Horatio might be a problem. The blond couldn't be sure, not now anyway, but the man seemed like someone who… was convinced of his own goodness. And as such, his father wouldn't see that lying was necessary (probably), so he'd probably tell the truth, whatever that was in his own mind. Which could so easily screw him over.

Well, Kyle thought to himself, he'd just have to figure out how to fix that. Horatio wouldn't be able to tell the truth and mess things up for them. For _him. _

But figuring out how to manipulate this man was… difficult, to say the least. Not really knowing Horatio at all, Kyle didn't know what to say or do.

He just didn't even know where to start.

* * *

Ray Junior came home to a silent house, which always meant he was alone. Because neither Salases nor Caines were quiet people. And if his mother was around, she'd be scrubbing the shit out of something or annoying him – both were two of her favorite activities.

He muttered an almost inaudible "Score."

And making his way to the kitchen for some serious fridge raiding, Ray realized, sadly, that he _wasn't_ alone.

Sitting at the kitchen table was his mother. But it didn't really look like his mother. She looked upset – okay, she looked _totally _miserable... Her eyes had tears in them, and she'd looked like she'd been crying at some point.

Thank God she wasn't doing that now, he thought. All he wanted was some post-school snackage, not a Hallmark moment with his mother. So he walked passed her, pretending like he hadn't even noticed her.

But as Ray jerked open the fridge, he couldn't help but think that it was a little odd for her to be sitting there silently.

Usually when she was upset, his mother had no problem letting the world hear about it. And since there wasn't any screaming or sobbing or breaking dishes or being overly dramatic in some other obnoxious way, the teenager could only assume that she was _really_ upset.

What did he do?

It was his first instinct to assume that she was angry with him; these days she was rarely pleased, and the fact of the matter was…. He'd done some unpleasant things with his life.

Not that she had a _right_ to rag on him like she did, but at least if he'd _done_ something, it would explain her sullenness.

As Ray Junior searched through the fridge for something remotely edible in all the food, he thought about what she might have found out. There was, of course, the cranberry juice he'd spilled on the white carpet a while back. But he'd managed to hide that by moving the couch a little bit.

Shoving the milk aside, the brunet berated himself. No. It wouldn't be the giant red stain on the carpet. As much as his mother would freak, as much as she hated her insanely clean world disturbed, she wouldn't be _this_ way over it.

Cause… she'd kill him when he found out about that, he knew.

But what else could it be?

Ray Junior searched through his last month's worth of actions. There were some little things here and there. One big thing that he would never tell her about, because she'd probably beat the hell out of him and cry about grandchildren she was surely _never_ going to have now. Or some other lame shit like that.

But even his sexuality couldn't elicit _this_ kind of response. Because she'd be angry and disappointed, but the teenager thought it would take something really big to make her upset in this way. Which… admittedly frightened him a little.

Because she only became this kind of sad over things that usually involved his father. Like when he'd died – or when they'd thought that at least. Or when they'd learned that Madison existed. Or when he'd died for real.

And given that his mother had been researching some kid whose mother had dated his namesake… maybe there was something going on?

Maybe… maybe… Ray hesitated to even think it but couldn't stop himself from doing so. Maybe he was still alive?

With that loaded question in his mind, the teenager knew he couldn't eat anything, and so he slapped the fridge door shut. It was rough and loud and usually his mother would say something sarcastic and condescending about how he needed to be more gentle. He waited for the admonishment, waited for the opportunity to lash out at her and return her verbal spar.

But this time, she said nothing, just kept staring at her hands.

Well that was new, he thought.

His curiosity piqued, Ray Junior finally asked, "What's wrong?" He hadn't said it particularly loud, but the question seemed to ring out in the silent room. And the teenager waited for her to say something, _anything. _

But she remained silent in her own little world.

And deciding that it wasn't worth it, or that in the very least, she wasn't going to say anything, he headed to his room. As he closed the door behind him, Ray Junior couldn't help but feel a little hope stir inside of him.

What she was doing might mean that his father was alive… and that was the only thing he could think about.

Working on the videogame would have to wait.

_End (30/??)_


	31. Chapter 30: We're Family

Author's Notes: Due to real life commitments, I'll only be able to post once a week for the next few chapters. But NOO will pick back up as soon as I have the time (and chapters) to post more than once a week. Thanks for everyone's understanding!

This week's chapter is dedicated to RedHotLover, who has been waiting for this fight for a while now. Thank you very much for the continual encouragement. And as always, none of this would be possible without my wonderful beta, Olly.

Remember to read and review!

_Disclaimer: I don't own the show or the characters. Don't sue. _

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Thirty: We're **_**Family**  
By Duckie Nicks_

"_The divine wrath is slow indeed in vengeance, but it makes up for its tardiness by the severity of the punishment." – Valerius Maximus_

Horatio had said he was going grocery shopping.

As he drove over to Yelina's house, he couldn't help but think about that particular lie once more. He'd only been with his son for a number of hours, and already he was lying to the boy.

The redhead sighed. Maybe they were just doomed to repeat everything they'd learned as individuals about parenting.

It depressed him to think that way, though. And, perhaps in part to console himself, Horatio thought that at least it wasn't an important lie. He _would_ stop at the grocery store, he supposed. It wasn't really a lie if he stopped somewhere else first, was it?

And besides, the redhead thought. It wouldn't do to tell the boy the truth. What was he going to say – "Sorry, Kyle, but I'm going to go see my sister-in-law who probably wants to kill me because you exist!"

He was protecting his son, he thought.

But as the lieutenant pulled up to Yelina's home, he couldn't help but wonder… who the hell was going to protect him?

He decided to treat it like a band-aid. As much as he didn't want to deal with this, with her anger, Horatio knew that vacillating on her front step would hardly resolve the situation quickly. And brevity was something he wanted here.

It was wrong to think that way, sure. But his lie would be less successful if he stayed at her home for the next six hours. And so, trying to be as confident as he could, the redhead rang the doorbell.

When she answered it, Horatio couldn't deny that the brunette looked more upset than usual. Her hair was a mess of curls tangled within one another. Her hazel eyes were a dark color but bright with unshed tears. Her nose was red, and everything thing else screamed anger.

"What are you doing here?" she asked. Unless he was very much mistaken, he could hear the muffled rage in her voice.

"Well," Horatio began, clenching and unclenching his jaw. "I called you. I wanted to –"

"I know what you want." She folded her arms across her chest, and this time, the redhead didn't even have cake to lure her away from the things she must have been feeling.

"Please let me explain."

"There's nothing to explain," the brunette nearly snapped. Yelina licked her lips. "You had a son that you didn't tell me about. There's really… nothing you can say that will change that, Horatio."

He nodded his head, knowing it to be true. But the redhead wasn't willing to let that go, not just yet. Not until she understood. "It's not that simple," he tried to argue.

"No, it _is_ that simple."

"Yelina, I didn't – I didn't know the boy existed." His fingers snuck into his pants pocket, lightly touching the sunglasses there, and he swallowed hard, as his inadequate words hung in the air.

She narrowed her dark eyes on him. It was a lame excuse, Horatio was aware, but… he'd hoped it would go over better that it seemed to.

"_Right,"_ she said coolly. Her voice was tinged with her rough accent. "You didn't know he existed. That's just…" The brunette unfolded and refolded her arms, and he shuffled his feet at her obvious agitation.

"I really didn't, Yelina. You have to believe me." He was all but short of begging her, and truth be told, Horatio felt he was almost willing to do that.

"'You didn't know.'" She repeated, trying the words out.

"Yes."

But it clearly didn't sit well in her mind, because Yelina shook her head furiously, her curls whipping back and forth. "You act as though that explains everything."

Well, he wanted to respond, in his mind, it _did_ justify and explain a lot. But Horatio was smart enough to know that that was probably not the smartest thing to say to her. "I know it doesn't," he said tactfully.

"No, it doesn't."

The redhead sighed. She wasn't going to make this any easier for him. And it was wrong of him to want otherwise, he supposed. "I wish things could be different," he told her honestly.

"Which part?"

"All of it."

Yelina frowned, shook her head again. "I…" Her voice trailed off, but he could detect the pain from the single word. Finally the brunette spoke up once more. "I gave you the opportunity to tell me the truth."

"I know you did."

"I_ asked_ you point blank what was going with this kid!" Her tone was rough, infused with her thick accent. "I asked you a couple of times, and you said –"

He shifted on his feet as he countered, "That's because I didn't know."

Her white teeth bit down what had to be painfully on her soft, muted red lips. "That's a lie." Horatio wanted to counter that, but she held up her hand. "When I met with Rick Stetler this morning, he_ knew_ what you'd done."

"So that's who told you," he said, finally understanding. Of course, Stetler would have done something like that.

"No," Yelina snapped. "It _wasn't_. He thought I had the right to hear it from _you._ But apparently… you don't feel the same way."

"I wanted to –"

"But you didn't!" Time seemed to tick away slowly, the sound of her heartbreak ringing in his ears, and Horatio wanted to soothe her ache in some way, wanted to make it better. But there seemed to be no way to do that.

Finally, she added, "Stetler is many things, I know, but… he takes his time when he thinks there's going to be a big reward in the end." The brother-in-law had a _lot_ to say about good old _Rick_, but she held up a hand, forcing him to remain silent.

"He's looked for ways to 'get' you, but he wouldn't automatically believe you had a son. So he would verify it, double check it – which takes time, yes?"

The redhead looked away, unable to avoid the conclusion his sister-in-law was surely going to make. "The way I see it… you've known since yesterday. And thinking about how you behaved last night, I_ know_ that you've known that long. At least.

"So if you're going to come over here and apologize to me, Horatio, and say that you're sorry for _lying,_ then perhaps you should stop doing just that."

At that moment, he couldn't remember how long he'd known Yelina, the number of years escaping his mind. But in all of that time, Horatio was sure he'd never seen her this angry. There'd been glimpses here and there, but… he didn't think she'd ever been this mad. At least, not at him, anyway.

And the fury coming from her nearly black eyes almost took his breath away. His mouth opened of its own volition, the words emptying from him without thought. "I learned the truth yesterday, Yelina… after we talked. After the _second_ time we spoke."

She said nothing, only making him feel the need to talk more. "And I wanted to tell you – I was _planning_ on telling you, but –"

"You didn't?" she interrupted, the sarcasm not lost to him.

The shame welling within him felt as real as the frown on his face. "I'm sorry." The words did nothing to abate the anger aimed at him, he thought, nor did it even begin to silence the voice within that told him… he'd screwed this up immeasurably.

"I'm so sorry," Horatio said to her. It was so little to give her, he knew, but what else was there? The redhead could tell her that he'd wanted to let Kyle hear the truth first, maybe. But it hardly seemed like a good excuse – or maybe it was, but he doubted Yelina would suddenly understand. She was too angry for that, the fury radiating off of her body, it seemed, so he let the apology hang in the air.

"And this is supposed to mean something to me?"

Yes, he wanted to tell her, wanted to tell himself. But instead, Horatio kept his mouth shut, allowing her to continue.

"Do you remember when Madison was diagnosed with leukemia and… I learned the truth about her?" Her voice was soft, tentative. And looking at her, he could tell that her tone wasn't for his benefit. Because her eyes had that… faraway look, like she was tiptoeing around a moment in time, afraid to delve too deeply in the past.

"When you first said that she was Ray's…" She brought a hand to rub her chin nervously, her index finger slowly tracing the curve of her top lip. It was something he'd never seen her do before, but then again, Horatio had never seen her need this much time to find the words she wanted.

And though they were close, this was a topic that had remained elusive to them, never discussing it after that day at the hospital. The brother-in-law realized then that maybe they should have, because it might have made this so much easier.

"I had almost gotten used to the idea that she could be your daughter, you know?" Her brow furrowed itself, and she swallowed hard. "That Ray…" her voice trailed off, unable to continue.

"I know," Horatio told her, trying to soothe.

"Let me finish." Her voice was low, gravelly, and heavily accented – so much so that it all sounded like one long word. And yet, it somehow felt like three individual, rough, slaps, to his senses.

"I was so angry then, but…" A smile – sad and small – played on her lips. "In a way, I was _relieved_ to know the truth."

His blue eyes raked over her, confused, imploring her to say more. And he was so sure that his reaction made her smile widen humorlessly.

"When Raymond wanted to go under cover, I… _hated_ the idea."

"I remember," he said. The look in her eyes stopped him from saying anymore.

"I didn't want him to do it; I thought it was _wrong_ to do it, to leave his family, but in the end, I let him go, knowing that if I hade him stay, he would resent me… maybe more than he already did." The last part was added quietly, an admission Horatio thought he had no right to hear.

Her smile was gone.

"I tried to blame you for it at the time – told my mother and father that my _husband_ was abandoning us temporarily, because of some childish need to outdo_you._"

A cool wind, out of place for summer, seemed to come from nowhere, and Yelina wrapped her arms around her midsection. Though something inside of him told him that maybe it wasn't the weather inspiring this action. But, knowing she would be angry if he said something, Horatio kept his mouth shut.

"And… maybe you believe that too," she added gingerly. "Right?" Her next words though were tarnished by a tangible bitterness. "But what neither of us admit – what we both _know_ to be true – is that if he were really happy… if he had held his commitment to _me_ in_ any_ regard, nothing you could do, no matter how many _idiotic_ things you did, could have touched him."

"My brother loved you," Horatio told her. The "as much as he could love anyone" was left unsaid, but somehow he supposed she knew. Her expression looked even more pained, if that were possible.

"He…" But her mouth closed just as quickly as it opened. The tears filling her eyes were not lost on him, but he made no move to touch her, to do _anything. _Because he knew it wasn't what she would want. "Maybe," Yelina said finally. "But the more I loved _him_, the older Ray Junior got, the more trapped he felt… so I let him go, _hoping_ that he would… do whatever he needed to do. Get it out of his system."

Her sigh ragged, she let out a breath roughly between her teeth, looking away from him momentarily.

"The drugs… I figured. Even if it hadn't been forced, I knew he would. Doing things in small measures – half way or remotely rationally – was never his method."

Horatio nodded his head solemnly. She was right about that, and normally the redhead would have felt the familiar anger towards his brother creep up on him then. But now…

He'd once asked his brother how a man could abandon his own family. He'd wondered at the time, because it seemed something so inconceivable and wrong. And maybe part of him still felt that way, but…

How could he judge when he'd essentially done the same exact thing?

Memories of trying to be the good boy flashed through his mind. Horatio had tried so hard, so so so_ hard_ to be that person. To be the one anyone could depend on, the one who_ never_ strayed from his moral compass, who never – not once – did something unforgivable or hurtful.

But Kyle existed, the proof that Horatio was just as big a screw up as Raymond could have ever hoped to be. And here the redhead was trying to play _Daddy. _But what relationship could he have with his son, really?

When some part of him would always see the boy as his downfall – the one who ruined the image he had strived for for so long. When a very real and palpable piece of him could believe that this teenager was the _bane_ of his existence… what relationship could they have?

He could almost taste the bitterness.

"Cheating on me," Yelina said, interrupting his thoughts, in a voice that mirrored how he felt. "I didn't – of course, I would have preferred… he not do that. But in some small measure," she explained, "I knew _that_ would happen too. And…"

What she was going to say, however, remained unspoken, her lips pursing shut once more.

There was so much he wanted to tell her at that moment, and he would have been more than ready to end the silence, but it wasn't what she wanted. Which meant Horatio could do little more than wait for her to keep talking, his mind replaying what she had told him thus far.

"So when I learned the truth about Madison… as angry as I was, it was… really nothing more than confirmation of something I had already accepted."

Despite knowing it would be in his best interest to maintain his silence, he couldn't help but interject, "You seemed pretty angry to me."

The sneer on her lips was not imagined. "I've already said as much," she snapped. "I had assumed he would have affairs, but the proof of that being shoved in my face? At the place where I work? By my brother-in-law? _That_ was something I… never expected. Or wanted."

This time Yelina looked downward, her focus on the floor in front of her.

Horatio watched her intently, noticing the constantly changing emotions radiate from her features. Anger and hurt permeated most frequently, and he wanted to help her… ease the pain she felt, because hadn't that been his role in all of this for years?

But, even without saying it, she'd relieved him of that duty. He understood that much. And Horatio couldn't help but worry that this time… he'd permanently screwed things up.

No, he mentally corrected himself, reconsidering the matter. No, this wasn't worry. The way things were now weren't tentative; there was no hope for reconciliation or forgiveness. This wasn't worry.

It was realization.

Yelina would _never_ come to him for help again. He'd seen to that.

And pushing away the pang of sadness, he finally noticed the smile gracing her face. It was unlike the ones he'd seen earlier in the day; yet the bitterness still seemed to infect every other part of her body.

But on her lips, the smile she held was sweet, and knowing it could have nothing to do with _this, _his head turned, looking in the same direction see what she had apparently noticed. It took him a few seconds to find it, but then there it was: down the street, two children, a boy and a girl, probably no more than six or seven years old, playing together, talking to one another animatedly.

Well, at least someone around here could have a civil conversation.

It was a fleeting thought, but somehow he was sure that she had read his mind, because she turned to look at him then. And the smile on her face quickly turned into an angry sneer. Their reprieve was over.

"It hurt. I will _never_ say it didn't. Doesn't. But at least nothing had changed!" The frustration in her voice could be heard in every syllable. "In the end, Ray was still an idiot, and I could still trust you – nothing had changed."

There was a beat, a moment before the knife was twisted in. "I can assure you," she said coldly. "It _won't_ happen again."

He sighed sadly, shifted on his feet. The way she looked at him, her eyes completely devoid of warmth and faith, made his skin crawl. And maybe it was just self-preservation, but Horatio felt the need to leave. In the very least… he knew that nothing else could be accomplished now.

She was too angry, and he'd messed up too much.

"All right," he said quietly, softly, trying not to sound as hurt as he was. "All right… I think that maybe I should go." But his words could only reflect how unsure he was of this new terrain, a fact he normally would have hated.

As he turned though, Yelina's words grabbed his attention. "Go?" The sarcasm rang through the air. "I don't think so."

Despite his better judgment, he stopped moving. How she could command him, without raising her voice, when he _really_ thought what she wanted was bad… confused him. But here he was, Horatio realized, staying like a trained dog.

His eyes questioningly slid up to meet hers, but seeing their intense black color, his focus quickly skittered away. The redhead would have preferred that she not see this, that _no one_ witness this moment of shame, confusion, and nerves. But in his peripheral vision, Horatio could tell she was smirking.

Yelina not only knew how he was feeling, he realized, but she was also… enjoying it perhaps.

"Oh no, dear _brother-in-law_," she half hissed, her accent thick and somehow devoid of all warmth. "We're _family._" And he didn't think it possible, but she had found a way to wield that last word as though it were the strongest of curses.

Though given this family, it might have been just that.

"Yelina," he tried to say.

"No," she snapped. "In the past, I have borne the brunt of _your_ mistakes. And Ray's as well. I have been the one to tell my son the truth. But not anymore. I will _not_ be the one to ruin his image of you."

Later, Horatio thought he would mull over each and every word she had spoken. Replay the conversation in his mind until he felt sick to his stomach. But right now, all he could feel was surprise. "You haven't told Ray Junior?" he asked.

And she opened her mouth to respond, but the retort she had hoped to hurl at him died on her lips, because… another voice spoke first. From somewhere inside the house, the question filtering outside, the boy asked, "Tell me what?"

The door seemed to open itself, revealing the confused teenager standing in the hallway. "Tell me what?" he repeated, his eyes flitting between his mother and uncle.

Horatio stood frozen, despite the warm air. He hadn't… he hadn't expected her to keep this a secret. In his mind, Yelina would have already told the boy the truth. That she hadn't terrified him, and he was more than ready to turn and run, as cowardly as it was, when his sister-in-law grabbed his arm.

No, not his arm, but his suit jacket. Her grip was firm, but careful, and he understood: she was refusing to touch him.

As Yelina yanked him in past the front door, his stomach dropped to the floor as she half-purred, half-threatened. "Go on, Horatio. Why don't you do the honors?"

Glancing at her black, angry eyes and then at Ray's almost naïve face, Horatio wished then that he'd never been born. Because he was going to hurt his nephew and he'd already done that to his sister-in-law.

The door shut behind him; there was no way out, no hole in the immediate vicinity to crawl in. And he knew…

He was going to have to tell the truth.

_End (31/??)_


	32. Chapter 31: Ray Junior

Author's Note: Thanks to Olly, my beta, for her wonderful comments and insight. I know this website now has a beta reader service of some sort, but there's no way any of that could ever help me as much as she does. As always, please read and review. I really do like getting feedback, everyone.

_Disclaimer: I don't own the show._

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Thirty-One: Ray Junior**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_A mother's love for her child is like nothing else in the world. It knows no law, no pity, it dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path."  
-- Agatha Christie_

Ray Junior sat silently on the white couch waiting for the truth. Not quite prepared to tell him, Horatio sat on the edge of the coffee table (much to Yelina's dismay) across from the boy.

"Tell me what?" the teenager asked for the third time, his tone sounding slightly annoyed now.

Dark eyes looking at him expectantly, Horatio was almost surprised to see just how much his nephew still looked like a little boy.

True, Ray was a teenager in years, had grown plenty in the last months so that he was now almost as tall as his mother. Gone was the baby fat that had rounded the boy's cheeks only a few years earlier; Ray Junior was almost all hard lines and angles now, and more than that, the boy had been through a lot. Which was really nothing more than an understatement.

But looking at the teenager now, Horatio thought the boy looked so innocent. It was not a blind naïveté by any means. Because in this family, no one seemed to freely give away their trust. At least not anymore… and probably never again, the redhead realized sadly.

Rather, in the dark eyes glancing back at him, Horatio saw _intentional_ belief. His nephew trusted him, couldn't see the danger lying ahead, because he'd chosen to. Because, despite everything else, Ray Junior had not lost faith in him; for all he'd seen in the world, the teenager had refused to consider his uncle a threat. It was willful, purposeful – a calculated decision that now felt totally misguided.

Out of the corner of his eye, the redhead could see Yelina shifting uneasily on her feet. And unless he was totally wrong, she was glaring at him.

He needed to get this over with.

"Well," Horatio said, trying to muster up some courage. "About sixteen years ago, I met a woman." In the back of his mind, he thought there should be a better way to say this. "We spent some time together," he told Ray Junior.

The redhead thought it would be best to leave out the part where he had a drunken one night stand. But the teenager seemed to connect the dots all on his own. His face screwing up in disgust, Ray said, "I don't think I want to hear the rest of this."

And though the situation necessitated seriousness, Horatio couldn't help but smile. "She… and I lost contact eventually, and it turns out she became pregnant."

It wasn't a total lie.

"Okay, look," Ray Junior interrupted. "If this is your weird way of '_teaching_' me about safe sex, then please. Let's spare each other the lame and semi-creepy re-enactment of an after school special."

Horatio frowned. Were these conversations _ever_ going to go the way he anticipated? There was a brief moment of defeat, before he shoved it aside. If he didn't spit the truth out soon, Yelina (who was practically snarling) would do it for him.

"I'm serious, Raymond," he pressed on. "She was pregnant, and now… I have a son."

There was a tiny bit of time where he could tell that the boy didn't believe him – the last moment of unbridled trust that they would ever have together.

"But…" Ray Junior looked towards his mother.

For his part, Horatio didn't dare to look at his sister-in-law. He knew all too well what he would see. So instead he watched as his nephew worked it out.

Slowly but surely disbelief gave way to realization – to shock. And what they'd shared with one another was over.

The boy's eyes became darker, the black pupils narrowing, tunneling shut. There was no hope now.

"Fuck you."

"Ray," Horatio started to say, but it didn't matter. The teenager was off the white sofa in seconds – his movements fluid and quick. And the redhead instinctively stood as well, all the while knowing that he needed to reach out to his nephew. But he could only say, "Son…"

Not that it mattered – "Don't you fucking dare!" the boy warned. Walking away, he shouted as he went, "Don't ever speak to me again."

Silence fell over the room like a lead weight. Horatio turned to Yelina, needing… comfort, but that was out of the question. The redhead knew that much, but right now, even the familiarity of her anger was welcome. Anything to let him know that he hadn't permanently ruined this would be nice, he desperately thought.

But she did not speak.

Nor did she jump, as he did, at the sound a bedroom door slamming shut.

What he should do now wasn't immediately apparent to him. Two angry family members were here, demanding apologies and attention and whatever else he could give. His… _son_ was at home? The sentence gave him pause, made him feel like he was trying on a pair of pants two sizes too small. A son was one thing, but that they now lived together was a concept Horatio couldn't truly comprehend at this point.

And _that_ – that he was still trying to learn how to be a parent – suggested he should leave Yelina and Ray Junior.

At the same time though, Horatio thought that Kyle could wait. The teenager might want the time alone, after all, and more than that… what damage could be done by staying away just a little longer? After sixteen years of not knowing his kid existed, he couldn't do much worse now.

In complete contrast, the longer he waited to take care of things with his sister-in-law and nephew, the worse it would be. Ray Junior wouldn't forgive him until he knew that Horatio had no plans of abandoning him. Yelina would be harder to take care of, more than likely remaining angry with him until well after making things right with her son. And between those two realities, it was easy to see who needed to be tended to first.

"I'll take care of it," he told the glaring brunette.

But it was the _wrong_ thing to say obviously. Because as he started to head down the hall, Yelina managed to somehow move quickly around him.

"No," she said firmly, blocking the rest of the way to Ray's bedroom. He'd never seen her look more rigid in his life, he thought.

However, as fearsome as his sister-in-law might have looked, it was nothing compared to knowing his nephew was behind that door not ten feet away hating him. "Yelina," he warned. "You need to let me fix this."

"I don't think so." Her accent was thick, but the sharpness in her words made him feel as though he'd been slapped.

Nonetheless, Horatio took a few steps forward.

"Stop it," she snapped. "Do not think for a moment, Horatio, that I'll let you through."

"He's my nephew."

"_MY SON._" The words seemed extra potent, given the situation, and the redhead looked away, unable to stand the judgment in her eyes.

Silence filled the room once more, mingling with his palpable need and her raging accusation. It was uncomfortable to say the least, but he did not open his mouth or move away. Without a word, Horatio was going to hold his ground.

Finally, Yelina said much more calmly, "You want to apologize – make things right. I get that. I really do." She took a deep breath. "But if you think you can fix this with a single conversation, then you're an idiot. And if you believe that I'll let you talk to my son after _everything_ you've done today, then it's obvious to me that you have no _idea_ how much you've screwed up."

Though the brunette wasn't blocking the door, she might as well have, Horatio thought. Everything about her words and posture were warning enough. He sighed and took a step forward nonetheless. "Yelina, you don't have to remind me that I… made a mistake. I've made many, especially in this. I know that." His voice sounded more exasperated than was warranted. Part of him understood that she had every right to recall everything he'd ever done wrong.

At that moment, however, not even the littlest bit of him wanted to hear it. He might have deserved it, but Horatio could only think of making things right with Ray Junior. So he said, more gently, "I get that. I know you're mad and you have every right to be." His voice getting harder then – "But you can't expect me to leave now with things as they are. I can't do that."

Taking another step forward so that he was now in her personal space, the redhead pleaded, "Please. Just let me apologize to him."

"No." She shook her head, curls whipping through the air, to emphasize her point. "That is what you want, but I can assure you it's not something he will take kindly to."

"You don't know that."

Her eyes seemed to get infinitely darker. "Yes, _I _do. It's one of the advantages of giving birth to and _raising_ a child. I know my son – I have been with him since the second he was conceived. And I have spent more than three days with him to know how he acts and reacts to situations."

There was no missing the accusation in her angry words. Each and every phrase stung just as it was intended to. And it didn't matter that the words – you're not a real father – had gone unsaid; they didn't _need_ to be spoken for him to understand what she meant.

Horatio would never be a father in her eyes. Because there was so much more to parenting than donating DNA. And the redhead knew it, agreed with her more than he would have liked.

But it was more than that for him; her words hurt him not only because she was commenting on his ability to parent.

If only it were that simple.

Her insults and insinuations cut through layer after layer of his defenses, destroying the lies he had wanted to believe about himself, had _needed _to believe in order to take Kyle in at all.

She was judge and executioner, too fairly labeling _less than._ Less than her as a parent, as a person in her son's life. Where he had excelled before, she now deemed him a failure. Just as his own self-image crumbled around him into tiny pieces so was her trust, evaporating into the heated air around him.

He was no father, no uncle, no friend; he was nothing in her mind, and worst of all, Horatio had no right to counter. No defense, no words of comfort or defense. He was nothing and had nothing to offer her.

But it was obvious from looking in her cold dark eyes that she would not be satisfied until he bled from the sharp words she hurled at him.

"He is my son," she repeated. "The absolute worst of his parents combined for a personality. Which means _I _know how he's reacting – I can predict how he feels based on the way _my husband_ or I would have reacted." Yelina let the words sink in some more before she continued. "Right now, after everything you've done, if your brother were still alive, he'd have bludgeoned you to death for your hypocrisy. And frankly, the only fault I see in that plan at the moment is where I would hide the body."

Right, he thought numbly. Well that settled matters on how angry she was. Still, he wasn't ready to give up – though alarm bells ringing loudly in his mind told him to.

"Ray Junior deserves –"

"What my son deserves is not the issue. What he _deserves_ is a family far less destructive than this one." She stopped talking, her throat noticeably tightening as she swallowed hard. And then much softer – in a voice Horatio could hardly recognize anymore – Yelina said, "If I had never married Ray…" The brunette shrugged and left the thought unfinished. She only told him, "But then my son would have never been born."

And then the anger coming back full force – "So I guess he and I are both stuck in this woefully inadequate family. And since what he_ deserves_ is something I cannot give him…" There was no missing the shame that temporarily flitted through her eyes. But that too was soon replaced with a fury that left him reeling. Finishing her thoughts, Yelina said, "Please pull your head out of your ass. And realize that arguing with me over something you _want_ to do isn't going to help."

"I –"

"Shut up," she interrupted. "You have two choices the way I see it. You can let me go to Ray Junior now – you can _leave_ – and maybe I will lie and tell him that you really _are_ worth knowing." She stopped talking, letting the words wash over him. "Or you can continue standing here, pushing me to do something I will _never_ agree to. In which case, I _will_ rip out your throat myself and find a place for your body later."

The threat was practically growled out, and she once more stopped to let the words sink in. Throwing her hands up in the air, Yelina said, "Completely your choice, Horatio. But don't think for a second you can apologize and plead your way to my son. It will _not_ work. Not today."

The next minute seemed to tick by at the pace of a snail. These were his two choices, which should have made his decision quicker. But the fact was none of it was what he wanted. And yet, any third or fourth options that flitted through his mind seemed to fall under her second choice, and Horatio had no desire to test how honest her words were.

Really, there was _no_ doubt in his mind that she really would kill him if he kept pushing and begging. After all, the redhead had seen her kill before in the line of duty.

Of course, her body count was much lower than his, and she had never killed like he had. Yelina had never hunted someone down with the express purpose of murdering him as he had. She was not a callous careless murderer like he was and had been. But that didn't mean she wouldn't pull the trigger now.

There was no joy in his sister-in-law's face. Neither amusement nor a hint of sympathy graced her features, making her look like an angel of death. Beauty even as she promised to destroy him.

Yelina was cold, her eyes fixed and set on the idea of impending murder, and it made his skin crawl.

He acted as though there was no time factor here and wondered if killing bothered her the way it always eventually did for him. Even though there was no doubt in his mind it was the right thing to do, sometimes Horatio thought about Riaz, about his father, and the rest. Had they been capable of reform? Of goodness? Were they all really the same, with the major difference being Horatio had been able to rise above the situation he had been born in?

Had he made a mistake?

In his heart, the redhead didn't think Yelina felt the same way – why hadn't he asked her before?

Not that he could ask _now. _His judgment had clearly taken a vacation based on his choices today, but he knew that much to be true.

And so with that thought in mind, Horatio nodded his head slowly. "All right. I'll go," he said quietly.

But the words were easier said than the action done. The distance from the hallway to the door seemed infinitely long, never ending. His feet refused to do what his mind was screaming at him to do – what Yelina had requested of him. Because no part of him wanted to go, wanted to _give up_, and leave Ray Junior thinking… that Horatio hadn't wanted to apologize.

Leaving was what she wanted, what he was going to do because _she_ had demanded it of him, but it wasn't easy. If anything it went against everything he believed in – abandoning the boy and his family. It wasn't right, he thought, but there was no other way.

And so he turned around, finally, and headed towards the door. Though he didn't look in the mirror, Horatio could feel how his shoulders sagged, how his head hang lower than when he had come in.

He didn't look back, but he could tell Yelina was following him. There was no telltale sound of her heels on the floor – she _said_ nothing – but he knew it. Somehow the air seemed to chill around her, and the cold wind kept following him; Horatio didn't dare to look back.

Only when he had opened the door and stepped outside did she make her presence known. Taking the knob in her hand, she leaned against the door as he turned to face her.

His voice soft and apologetic, Horatio told her, "I'm sorry, Yelina. I'm so sorry." She said nothing so he continued, "I'm sorry – this was a mistake. I should have waited; I shouldn't have come."

Her dark eyes didn't look at him as she stepped out of the door jam. "No kidding." She slammed the door shut in his face, the metal knocker rattling.

Sighing, Horatio stood there for a minute, praying that Yelina would come back.

She didn't, and he sighed once more, knowing that things would never be the same for them.

He'd ruined what they had once had together, and now… Now Horatio had to go back to the proof that he'd screwed everything up.

He had to go back to his son.

_End (32/??)_


	33. Chapter 32: Getting to Why

Before we get to this next chapter, I want to respond to Kelly's review of Chapter 31 from last week. Normally, I'd do this via private message, but, as the review was sent anonymously, I guess I'm doing it here, lol. Ray Junior is naturally upset, but I don't think that has much to do with a fear of losing/sharing Horatio. Certainly that issue will come up, but right now, he's much angrier over the idea of being lied to and betrayed. Having gone through all of the crap with his father (including with Madison), Ray, I think, is pretty fed up.

And the same is really the case for Yelina. I don't see her reacting as a wife would; if anything, while I was writing the chapter, I felt as though she was very much distancing herself from her attraction to him. Because for her, parenting is an incredibly serious thing. And she, more than anyone, knows what Horatio and Kyle have missed out on. After all, she was the one who did all the research on Kyle's background, so she knows (as much as anyone can) what happened and what the results of Horatio not being around are. And she's not particularly sympathetic to _that, _because of her own personal experiences of being a single mother. To her, parenting is much more than what's found in DNA, and Yelina can't respect someone who would _not_ be involved in their kid's life from the beginning. Perhaps that's not fair to Horatio, but her feelings are just one unfortunate by-product of being married to Raymond Caine for so many years.

How the Caine-Salas-Harmon family deals with all of this, I think, will be what's really interesting to see. Anyway, thanks for the review, Kelly, and to Little Horatio as well. I appreciate it so much.

Most of all, thank you to my beta, Olly, for pulling me back from the dark abyss a good 6 or 7 times a day.

_I don't own the show so don't sue. _

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Thirty-Two: Getting to Why**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_The heart of a mother is a deep abyss at the bottom of which you will always find forgiveness." – Honore de Balzac_

She sagged against the door. This day would never end, she thought, having gone from one exhausting conversation to another. From Stetler to Rebecca Nevins to her brother-in-law. Each time she thought she was finished, another exchange seemed to pop up, more frustrating and tiring than the last.

The most recent had been, easily, the worst. Years of desire met with disappointment had caught up with her, and honestly, Yelina hadn't intended on telling Horatio so much. But at the same time, the brunette didn't think it was an entirely wasted effort. Her words had hurt him; her brother-in-law had, if only for a brief moment, gotten to experience just a fraction of the pain she felt now.

In the very least, she was sure that they would never go down that road of attraction and innuendo again.

Horatio would no doubt say that she had been cruel to him – cold, and maybe she had been. But it was worth it.

So worth it, because it meant Yelina was essentially _free_ from him and from everything they'd been through together.

And yet, part of her thought that maybe that wasn't true. That maybe she'd erred by being so honest.

Shaking her head, the brunette pushed the thought aside, her body too tired to consider the matter too closely. Her muscles ached as though she'd run several miles, but there could be no rest for her at the moment. Not when she needed to bear the brunt of Ray Junior's pain.

Pushing herself away from the door, the brunette walked slowly towards her son's room. It wasn't fear – or reluctance – that determined her pace. That wasn't an issue for her. Not really anyway.

Ray would be angry, would yell and scream, as he always did. Which wasn't particularly fun for her, no, but he wouldn't mean it. He never did.

And they would get through this together. They always did.

But right now, she was still furious, distraught beyond belief herself. Yelina had almost hoped Horatio had refused to leave so she _could_ kill him; she was angry, blinded by her rage, and that made her the worst person to talk to about this.

Who else was Ray Junior going to talk to about this, though?

In her mind, there was no one else, and putting this conversation off wouldn't help matters.

Pushing her son's door open and her feelings aside, Yelina told herself that right now it wasn't about her or her anger. That would have to wait, and the mother shoved all of her pain into the darkest recesses of her mind. This couldn't be about her; she _would not_ take comfort from her son, because that wasn't his job. And this had to be entirely about him.

The door wide open, the brunette's eyes searched the room for him. The teenager wasn't on his bed crying, as she might have imagined. And preferred. It was _awful_ to want that – to think that tears would make the situation easier. But as he was sitting stoically (or as close to stoicism as Ray could ever hope to get), the mother also knew that this would be the most exhausting conversation of the day. Because now it meant taking the time to draw out his feelings in addition to soothing him.

In other words… they'd have to fight, and it was the last thing Yelina wanted to do. Taking a deep breath, she said a quick prayer to get them both through this.

"Ray?" she asked tentatively. But if he'd heard her, the teen didn't let it show. He merely continued to play his video game on his computer. "Raymond," Yelina repeated more sternly.

He still didn't look at her. "What?"

The brunette silently crossed the room till she stood next to him. "Will you please look at me?"

"No."

Inwardly the mother rolled her eyes. Leaning forward, she paused his game, her hands just quick enough to avoid being slapped away. Annoyed, she bit down on her lip. But she pushed her irritation aside, knowing it wouldn't get them anywhere. "We need to talk about this."

Naturally, of course, the teenager hit the space bar, unpausing the game. "About what a nag you are?" he snarled back. "Because I've been complaining about _that_ for years and –"

Her hand clasped around his chin forcing him to look at her. His brown eyes meeting her hazel ones, she searched his face. And it was easy to see the pain brimming in them… with a little shame as well. Despite his angry words, she could tell he didn't mean it.

They said nothing to one another, but in the background, the sound of Ray's character dying could be heard. And with his game over, the LCD screen reading so in dripping blood, he gave in. "Fine. Let's _talk_."

"Honey," she said quietly. "I'm sorry that –"

"That you didn't _tell me_ what was going on?!" he finished for her, his voice filled with anger and betrayal.

Her sigh seemed loud in the still room. "I… didn't know how to tell you," the mother admitted. "And I thought that if Horatio didn't tell you himself, you wouldn't believe it."

"Bullshit. That's _crap, _and you know it," he yelled. Ray Junior gritted his teeth before continuing. "You just didn't want to tell me so that I'd be mad at _him_ and not you!"

"Right," she snapped in a tone that matched his. Her arms instinctively folded across her chest. "That was my scheme the _entire_ time, and very clearly it worked _oh so well_, little boy." The sarcasm rounded off her harsh words. "Unfortunately, you're wrong. Because I _knew_ either way you would be furious with me. So... thinking that _maybe_ Horatio could offer a better explanation, I let him tell you. Unless you believe I'm somehow more aware and in control of what your uncle's penis is up to."

Ray Junior, smiling, stood up. At his height, he was just a few inches shorter than she was. But what he lacked in size was easily made up for in the humorless gaze the teen was giving her. And he too folded his arms before saying, "Yeah, well, that's too bad. Cause it'd be nice _not_ to have new family members pop up every few years!"

His words felt like a slap in the face – and yet it was also a reminder: their relationship was so poisonous. His desire to hurt her seemed to infect every interaction they had these days, and after each conversation, his need had no doubt been fulfilled.

It had become part and parcel to who they were now, an inescapable fact. This was their family dynamic, and it would… probably never change, because some part of her son would _blame_ her for the rest of his life for the things that had happened.

This was who they were.

But it wounded nonetheless, and today might just be fatal she thought.

Her breath coming in short spurts, Yelina had to remind herself why hitting him would be wrong. He was an idiot, but he was also her son she told herself. She would _not_ hurt someone she had given life to.

No matter how much he might have deserved it.

She would not… and couldn't do it, because in the end, it wouldn't do any good. Ray Junior would just pull further away from her and never speak to her again.

Closing her eyes, Yelina took a deep breath. And finally, when she had calmed down, the brunette said quietly, "If you want to blame me for this, then… all right. It would be a _lie_," she warned. "But one I would let you believe if it helped you, because I'm your mother."

"Right" His voice was filled with sarcasm, which she hated, because she had meant every word she'd said. And it bothered her, because at his age, Ray shouldn't be so cynical. Or angry.

"You're really Mommy of the fucking year, here," he growled. "I mean who could _compete_ with your martyrdom and your inability to marry into a family where everyone's genitals stay where they're supposed to!" He uncharacteristically shoved his chair into the desk, the wood smacking loudly against it.

Yelina's mind reeled with her son's cruel words, and truth be told, if anyone else had said them, she would have beaten them senseless. But from her own child? She was just stunned, completely unable to deny his accusations or fight back.

And maybe part of that, her traitorous mind thought, was because there was no way for her to do that – to deny what he was saying. Because from her own perspective, he was in some ways so… _right_. She wasn't a martyr, not by any means.

But the mother _could _agree that _this_ was in some ways her fault. She'd chosen to marry Raymond; she'd brought both herself and her son into this situation, and… that was something he could –_should_ – blame her for… not that she would ever apologize for that decision.

It was obvious, though, that Ray Junior didn't care what she had to say about the matter at all. Instead, he turned around, taking a few steps before flopping onto his bed. But there was no doubt in her mind that the teen was waiting for her to say something, do something.

"If you're expecting an apology from me – for falling in love with your father – Ray, you won't get one. I don't regret that at all."

His brown eyes met hers. "Don't believe you."

Well, of course he didn't. "I'm not saying that…" Her voice trailed off as she searched for the right words. "This family turned out to be more screwed up and broken than I could have ever imagined," Yelina admitted. It was not a truth she'd ever wanted to acknowledge in private, much less one her son should have to face.

Really, she couldn't have anticipated that part at all, a sad smile forming on her face. When she'd first met and fallen in love with Ray, he had seemed sad to her… And yes, there was an almost unhealthy competition with his brother, but there had been no real warning signs, she thought. Nothing to suggest that these two men would do so much harm to her or her son later in life.

"I'm sorry that I haven't protected you from that," Yelina told him. She did not say, "from _them_," even though she knew… they were both thinking it anyway.

Moving towards his bed, the mother sat down next to his feet. He was so close, she thought. But the distance between them seemed expansive. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "But I won't _ever_ apologize for marrying your father. Because… as much as I wish things could be different – if they were, I wouldn't have you. And by comparison, illegitimate children hardly matter to me."

Perhaps she had overplayed her hand with this admittance. Because her son was never afraid to express his emotions, sure, but… that didn't mean he could appreciate the sentimentality of her words. And she knew he didn't appreciate it, because when the boy looked at her, it was easy to see; Ray Junior was furious.

"I don't believe you." His words were defiant, sad. "Because if you _meant_ what you just said, you wouldn't talk about me like I'm Frankenstein's monster!"

Her eyebrows raised in confusion. "When –"

"Just now – talking to Uncle Horatio. You said that I was the _worst_ of you and Dad combined. Not the best – not even the mediocre stuff. But _the worst._" He turned onto his side, refusing to look back at her. "You can't say you wouldn't give me up_ and_ talk about me like I'm demon spawn."

What he was saying seemed to turn on a light inside of her head, and honestly, Yelina could have never guessed he would react this way. Watching him intently, she waited for him to say more. But there was nothing except his cool silence, forcing her to think about how he felt.

Shifting herself further on the bed, Yelina moved until her body was next to Ray's. His head on the pillow near her hip, the mother rested against the head board. From here it was easy to gaze at his pained face.

And there was no denying the truth that came to her mind, because she knew that today she too had hurt her son. Knew that Horatio hadn't helped matters, but in the end, she'd done just as much damage, it seemed.

"Ray…"

"Before you lie, you should know that I _heard_ you. Don't lie."

"I have no intention of doing that," she said quietly, and it was the truth. Because right now her son needed reassurance and approval – not another lie to think about.

Her right hand slid towards her son, instinctively carding through his hair. "I've never denied that you inherited some… less than wonderful traits."

"Thanks a lot," he snapped angrily. The teen shrugged his shoulders, wriggling on the bed to get as far away from her as the mattress would allow. Part of her was tempted to pull him back, but she didn't, letting him take the space he so clearly wanted.

"You're easily frustrated, impatient. That you got from your father. You can be secretive, thanks to me. And you got a double dose of stubbornness from both of us. But –"

"Thanks," Ray Junior interrupted. "When do I get to list _your_ bad qualities?"

"Raymond," Yelina said in exasperation. "You believe that I don't see anything else in you, but I do. I would be blind otherwise. You're smart, and when you want, you make smart choices, which apparently puts you leagues ahead of everyone else in this family."

She stopped herself then, once again forcing her anger over the situation back into the corner of her mind.

"You're funny and sweet. Brave, and if I don't take credit for any of that, it's because… I have no idea where you got it from."

Her hand ventured over to him once more. "You're not… demon spawn or however you put it. You _are_ my son – a gift from God, one that no one in this family deserved."

"That's for sure," he whispered honestly in agreement.

That there was no anger in his voice, no need to fight her on this was a good sign she thought.

Moving closer to him, the brunette said quietly, "I'm sorry." And she prayed that he believed that, because she _was. _

In the end, she knew it wasn't her fault. But… some part of her felt as though she had failed as a mother by not protecting him. The brunette might not have seen the signs when she dated and first married Raymond. However, at some point, she _had_ realized he had problems, that he wasn't good for her son.

And there was no denying, not anymore, that she should have taken her son and run as fast as she could. Staying with her husband had been a mistake – the consequences falling mainly on the teenager next to her.

"Then why did you stay?" Ray Junior asked somberly. "Why didn't you leave?" And the guilt gripping her clamped down on her heart, squeezing her tightly, when he asked, "Why did this happen?"

The emotions he had so terribly wanted to hold back refused to be ignored any longer. Ray rolled over, giving her a brief window to see the tears falling from his eyes, before he buried his head in her lap.

"Why" uttered over and over again, each time more desperately, each time without an answer. There _was_ no reason she could offer that would help.

Her hands moved onto him, pulling him as closely as possible. Fingers in his hair, rubbing his back, the mother tried to comfort him, and it wasn't long before her tears mingled with his own. And the only sounds filling the room were his "whys" and sobs, Yelina's prayers to hold her son together, and to get them both through this, going unsaid.

_End (33/??)_


	34. Chapter 33: What Lies Beneath

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who's made it this far in my fic. Please feel free to leave reviews, hehe.

Also thank you to Olly, my beta. Had I know this piece were going to be so long, I totally would have abandoned it. But thanks for sticking with it and me nonetheless.

_Disclaimer: It's not mine. _

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Thirty-Three: What Lies Beneath**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_In the depths of every heart, there is a tomb and a dungeon, though the lights, the music, and revelry above may cause us to forget their existence, and the buried ones, or prisoners whom they hide. But sometimes, and oftenest at midnight, those dark receptacles are flung wide open. In an hour like this, when the mind has a passive sensibility, but no active strength; when the imagination is a mirror, imparting vividness to all ideas, without the power of selecting or controlling them; then pray that your grieves may slumber, and the brotherhood of remorse not break their chain." – Nathaniel Hawthorne _

Her skirt felt rough against the side of his tear-stained cheek. Not that the cloth was meant to be that way, like wool, Ray Junior knew. Because his mother, with her white linen clothes and maroon-painted toes staring back at him, was not one to skimp on her physical appearance. So he could only assume that it felt like he was rubbing against sand paper, because he was upset.

Which was so… _lame. _

In this family, displays of emotion, Ray Junior knew, weren't discouraged or anything like that. As if his parents even _could_ tell him not to do that. After all, his mother was the person he fought with nearly every day, and his dad had been nothing but drama since day one. And now his _uncle_ with this new cousin bullshit.

So they couldn't judge him, like, _at all_. But there was still something pathetically lame about being two months away from fifteen and sobbing in your mother's lap. Punching things, screaming, destroying property – that was the family norm, and for a good ten minutes, Ray thought he'd actually been able to uphold that standard.

And then he'd broken.

He'd tossed the requisite reaction aside and cried, clutched his mother, asked why over and over. He'd been… _childish_ in the way he'd looked for _Mommy_ to fix everything.

But laying there now, his head on her lap and her hands in his hair, Ray wasn't sure what bothered him most. It was one thing to want her to make it all better, another entirely to know that she couldn't. Blinking back the fresh set of tears threatening to fall, he decided the second was far worse.

They continued to sit this way for a while, the amount of time beyond his comprehension. Whether it was minutes or hours, he didn't know, and he didn't really care. His thoughts were too jumbled, a house of cards collapsing in on itself.

A memory flashed through his mind then. It was hazy, not entirely formed, as nothing from that time was for him. His father had died, and everything else going on had slipped past him easily. Lying next to his mother now, Ray couldn't recall the exact moment he'd learned the truth.

Daddy was alive one minute but not the next. In spite – or maybe because – of the traumatic event, he'd never really remembered the instance the change occurred. Only random snippets of things seemed to stay in his mind: Uncle Horatio yelling at reporters, strangers bringing by lots of chocolate cake (which stopped being great when, after sneaking a third piece, Ray Junior promptly threw up everywhere), Mommy going through Daddy's ties – even when everyone else said that no one would see it, because the coffin wouldn't be open.

From moment to moment, there was a hushed frenzy that threatened to consume them all. Whispers in Spanish about how Mommy should lay down, tears from everyone when they thought he wasn't in the room, and harsh words towards Uncle Horatio for trying to help were frequent, filled the house during the day. And somehow, to Ray Junior, _that _was way better than when Mommy locked herself in the bedroom and _screamed. _

_Sobbed._

_Begged._

Burrowing his head further into his mother's lap now, he could only remember that happening once distinctively, in vivid detail. Maybe it had occurred before that one time; he didn't really know.

His grandparents had gone home to sleep, and Horatio was doing something with the police – Ray didn't know what – and so he'd been left alone with her. And she'd retreated from him, and he had listened to his mother beg God to bring his father back.

Even now, he could remember pounding on the door for _hours_ to be let in; it had scared him so much. And finally his grandparents had come back – pulling him away from the door that they eventually broke down. Just a little boy, he'd watched, as his grandfather tried to drag him into the living room, his grandmother _slap_ his mother. Several times. Which _now_ made Ray Junior want to stab the old bat, but at the time, it'd just been another thing he couldn't understand.

The two women had shouted at one another in Spanish. The words coming out too quickly for him to translate it all in his mind, they'd screamed at one another until his mother had caved. It was one of the only times Ray had ever seen it happen, but after an hour of trading slaps and his grandmother saying she was scaring the baby, his mother had done just that.

And everything seemingly went back to normal afterwards. His mother had gone back to focusing on him like she had before. Only this time, her parenting was almost obsessive in a way. It was sort of like… Ray Junior struggled to find the right words. It was sort of like… the absences his father created had to be filled, replaced, so that it didn't mean anything. So that his _death_ didn't mean the end of their family.

Ray Junior supposed it had worked in some ways; his mother never locked herself alone in a room again, anyway. But that nervous energy, that tangible… fear something would go wrong, had continued to lurk beneath the surface.

And _that_ idea seemed to invade every aspect of his life, even now. At the time, he'd hide from his grandmother, afraid that she would snap as she had before. She'd come into the room, and he would cling to his mother's legs, worried that this seemingly benign woman would turn on him.

But even Mommy was no longer comforting. Because he'd heard her cry and scream, and that made him realize quickly that she wasn't perfect. That she couldn't move heaven and earth simply by will.

What she appeared to be wasn't who she actually was on that day she locked herself in the bedroom. And that made little Ray Junior wonder if Daddy had ever been… _real. _Had he really been as strong and funny as he made tiny Ray believe?

During the funeral, it was all he could think of. He clung to Mommy throughout, but all the while, his dark eyes stayed trained on the black coffin.

On the bed, Ray instinctively shifted, twitched, and his mother stroked his hair, whispered, "I'm sorry." But there was no way, he understood, she could know or understand what he was thinking about. Because he'd never talked to her about this particular deep-seated fear.

It wasn't about death itself. The teenager wouldn't ever say that he was comfortable with the idea – he didn't _want_ to die. But more than that, it was the fear of dishonesty, of things not being _real._ And while part of him wanted to talk to his mother about it, Ray Junior knew he couldn't. How could he? The thing that frightened him the most was all tied up in his father's death, which was a sensitive subject at best.

He'd brought it up with Horatio once – the fear of what was _in_ the coffin. But thinking about it now, Ray wasn't sure his uncle had really understood. Horatio had merely said that they should think about how his father had _lived_, which really didn't offer that much comfort.

Because the teenager knew it wasn't being scared about death. When his pet parakeet, Toaster Oven, had died, it hadn't frightened him. No, standing there in the middle of the night in his bare feet, Ray Junior had only hoped to say good night to his bird. And the stiff creature, its blue and gray feathers still fluffy and neat, hadn't scared him. He'd missed his pet something awful, obviously, but… if anything, death had interested him. Which was either normal, he thought now, or really _not_ normal, and he was going to turn into a sociopath sooner or later.

Given what happened today with his asshat uncle and this new cousin… probably sooner.

But the point _was_, Ray thought, pushing that idea aside, death itself didn't scare him. With his father, what terrified him more than anything was… wondering whether or not the older man had been who he'd said he was. All the whispers had seeped into his subconscious, and he'd worried that maybe there was more to the story than everyone had said.

And it had all come to a head at the funeral.

Mommy woke him up looking happier than… no, not happy at all, Ray Junior decided as he wiped the sleep from his eyes, and she smoothed his hair back with her hand. She was still sad, sitting on the edge of his bed, in a black slip. Her hair was pulled back, which wasn't normal, and he didn't like it. Didn't like that there was any change to _her_, and more than that… the long dark curls had always been a nice place to bury his face.

Not that he was a scaredy cat, because he _wasn't_. Ray Junior always enjoyed getting into new things. But sometimes… that meant getting into trouble as well – like the time he pushed all the elevator buttons and some old angry man caught him and threatened to skin him alive. Or the time he'd jumped into the duck pond at the park, even though Mommy had said he couldn't, and slipped and broken his foot.

Both times, she'd saved him, scooping him up into her arms and letting him hide his face in her hair. She'd always saved him, always protected him, _always_ given him that little place to run to.

And now it was gone. Now she'd taken that away from him.

And Daddy was dead too.

And no hiding spot curtained in hair could protect Ray Junior from that so it was stupid to want it anyway.

And it was _all wrong!_

The thought seemed to lodge itself in the back of his throat, refusing to leave and setting the tone for the rest of the day. He was grumpy because of it. Every little thing left him upset and dissatisfied, even if it really wasn't that big a deal. The sugary sweet and colorful cereal he was rarely allowed to eat was served for breakfast. But then Mommy left, telling him that she needed to get ready, and… alone with his fruity pebbles, Ray Junior felt so cold. Despite wearing his stupid pajamas with the footies that made it hard to make it to the bathroom in time occasionally, he was cold, shivering.

And even then, his small mind understood there was no fixing that. So he ate his cereal miserably.

The chill seeping into his skin only worsened throughout the funeral. Freezing next to Mommy, Ray could only stare at the coffin – all black and wooden.

A few people, the little boy didn't recognize who they were, got up and made speeches, but he didn't pay attention. His dark eyes remained trained on the casket, his mind wondering whether or not Daddy looked like Toaster Oven did when he had died.

Was he also stiff? Cold? Or was it different? Did Daddy know he was dead? Could he tell?

Had he really done some of the things everyone whispered about now?

Was Mommy going to lock herself in that room again? Would she be unable to come back from that?

Was everyone hiding something underneath?

Pulling himself from the thoughts, Ray Junior closed his eyes, his cheek pressed firmly against his mother's lap.

At least that one question no longer plagued him.

Yes, everyone was hiding something. _Everyone._ His father hadn't been dead, had lied, had done all sorts of horrible things. His mother… seemed relatively sane, but part of the teenager always felt the need to test it. Needed to push her as hard as he could to see just if and when she would break.

And now his uncle. With his hidden bastard child.

Given the secrets in this family, Ray Junior thought…

Death seemed so little by comparison.

In fact, lying here now, he wondered if it weren't a preferable solution to the tangle of lies that had become his life.

_End (34/??)_


	35. Chapter 34: A Home's Constitution

Author's Notes: Thanks for Little Horatio and E-AJ-15 for the wonderful comments. I appreciate it more than you know. Also thanks to my beta, Olly, for being a goddess when it comes to making my fic into something legible. 

_Please read and review._

_Disclaimer: I don't own the show, so don't sue._

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Thirty-Four: A Home's Constitution**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_Home is not where you live, but where they understand you." – Christian Morganstern_

Being in Horatio's home alone was… weird. 

No, Kyle thought, correcting himself. This entire situation was weird, not just the house and definitely not the being alone in it part. 

They hadn't said much after collecting his things from his former foster family's house of horrors. The teenager didn't really know what the hell that meant. Were they just tired? Or were they always going to be quiet around one another? 

Simply put, there were just too many unknowns for the blond to feel comfortable. Of course, that didn't stop him from hopping in the shower the first moment he could. Washing away the stench of jail beat the weirdness of being naked in a new place every time. Or so Kyle was willing to assume. And as he shampooed his hair, he decided that, given his discomfort, he'd need to snoop around the house. 

What Kyle hadn't planned on was Horatio bolting out the door so quickly. Groceries had been the official excuse, but the teenager sort of doubted it. And if the redhead really was lying, then that wasn't a good sign. 

But Kyle wasn't really upset about it. Naturally, in the back of his mind, he thought maybe he should be. However, with the man gone, it would be way easier to invade his privacy.

He wouldn't be looking for anything in particular. Everything he knew about Horatio at the moment had been gleaned from their short interactions with one another. So there were no… pre-conceived notions on who this man might be. Because in all the years of not having a father, Kyle had never thought about having one. 

Other kids over the years obviously had dreamed about it. They were, the teenager knew, the kind of foster children who fell into the Little Orphan Annie mold. Rather than accept their situation, they spent their days with their heads in the clouds, imagining a family out there just _dying_ to adopt them. 

And Kyle supposed it made them happy – gave them hope to think of such things. But as their dreams almost never became reality (thank you, crappy American adoption system), he'd never gone down that path. Which made it all the more ironic, he thought, that he should find himself with his own… less bald, more annoying version of Daddy Warbucks – or whoever the hell it was that rescued her in the movie he'd seen only once _ages_ ago. 

But even if he had believed those mythical stories of kids getting adopted, Kyle knew this wasn't ideal. Fathers and sons, he thought, before automatically stopping himself from finishing the idea. That was too nerve-wracking, too loaded a term. _Family_, he started over, probably didn't act like this normally. Like… strangers towards one another. 

The past week had brought about so many changes in their lives, but it almost felt like nothing had changed at all. And Kyle couldn't really explain it – why everything felt suspended and static too him. But it just seemed like he and Horatio were no closer than they were when they first met. 

Did Horatio even really see him as a son? Because God only knew that the teenager didn't exactly see him as a father. Even more confusing was how he should address the man. Dad? Horatio? Pop? 

See, he thought to himself. This was exactly the problem with this whole thing. Every little thing was complicated, nothing straightforward or easy. And worst of all, Kyle didn't even _want_ what was being offered to him. He didn't want a dad, had never really seen the point in having one. 

_That_ thought made him feel like… a piece of shit. 

The faces of all those kids he'd lived with before flashed through his mind. _They_ wanted this; they wanted someone to come and rescue them and love them. And maybe this wasn't exactly that, but it was close enough, probably, for most of them. They would all cut off their limbs for an opportunity like this. But here _he_ was. 

He'd never wanted it, but he'd gotten it anyway – like a millionaire winning the lottery. 

So Kyle supposed in a way that searching the house was meaningless to him. Nothing he could discover here would make him automatically reverse sixteen years of thinking. It wouldn't suddenly make him_ want_ to know his father. 

But the more practical side of him knew that there was a reason for snooping about. At the moment, Kyle didn't know much about the man he was going to be living with. And given that he'd had enough surprises to last a lifetime, the teen was determined to learn all he could. In the very least, it would be much easier to manipulate the redhead if he could figure out what the man tick. 

Not to mention it would probably make the upcoming trip to social services simpler. At least if Horatio and he could pretend to play father/son, then maybe no one would object to the living arrangements and consequently toss his ass back in jail. 

So minutes after the Hummer drove away, the teenager got to work. He started in the living room, on the off chance Horatio forgot something and turned around. Because getting caught wasn't on his list of things to do, and Kyle knew that their… relationship or whatever someone wanted to call it didn't need any more bumps and kinks. 

The room was pretty basic, the teenager thought. Sage green walls suggested an interior decorator had set foot in the place. But that didn't really seem to match up with what the blond knew about Horatio, so he concluded that the man had probably decided on the color himself. So… his father wasn't colorblind. Great. That really made up for sixteen years of not knowing who the hell the man was. 

There were two brown leather couches, but they still looked practically new. No stains on any of the cushions, and they didn't have that worn in look. Only the leather recliner chair appeared to have any wear on it. And given the water marks on the coffee table near by, Kyle imagined that Horatio liked to sit in that chair for hours, drinking scotch or whatever, before going to sleep. So the man potentially had a drinking problem, was an insomniac, and had a penchant for slaughtering cows for furniture he rarely used.

Dealing with an alcoholic was something Kyle had no interested in. But thinking it over in his mind, Horatio didn't really seem like the kind of guy to drink so much. He was… too obsessive, too desperate to be in control of a given situation, the teenager thought. And given that, he could very well believe that the man had some sort of sleep problem. After all, it couldn't be easy being a dick of a cop day in and day out. 

The boy shook his head. Thinking like that wouldn't help. If there was any hope of handling the situation with some grace, he couldn't keep thinking of Horatio that way. Even if it was probably true. 

Getting back to his assumptions, Kyle laid a hand on the smooth brown leather. It felt warm against his skin, and he had to wonder if it was even comfortable to sit on such furniture in the middle of July in Miami. He doubted it, thinking of how the animal skin almost always clung to his own when he would get off a couch while sweaty. So the man had an impractical side to him. Or maybe he just didn't care about sticking to a couch he would rarely use anyway. 

Kyle sat down in the recliner, leaning back in the seat. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine what it felt like to be Horatio Caine. What did the man see when he sat here? What… did he feel? 

Inhaling deeply at that moment, the teenager thought it wasn't all that difficult to figure out what Horatio _smelled_ when he sat in the chair. All around him was that leather-y odor, which Kyle hated.

It was a thing for the boy – animals. The teenager wasn't really sure when it started or why he hated the idea of killing animals for food and for clothes. Truth be told, it went against that hard ass image he wanted to portray… that he'd needed to portray in his childhood. And certainly there was no _point_ in harboring random, freakish hippie tendencies. At least not in a foster system, where pickiness was practically beaten out of you. 

Being different was not allowed, much less encouraged. Foster care… wasn't about giving kids family, as much as it was a place to toss the unwanted until they grew up and could be chucked back onto the streets. Individuality, Kyle had learned, was discouraged – unless the kid's uniqueness lent itself to the system. Like a toddler who learned potty training the first week or children who were obsessive-compulsively polite. Things like _that_ could be appreciated, because it made things easier. 

But potentially demanding different foods… different clothes – hell, having taste of any sort? That would never be tolerated, and Kyle had known it for years. So he sat at those dinner tables for years, eating the things he didn't want. However, that fact of life hadn't killed that inherent empathy he felt. If anything it had cemented it, because the teenager _knew_ what it felt like to be shuttled around, to have your worth limited to what you could give others. 

A distinct wave of bitterness washed over him at that moment. After his mother had died, he'd been forced to… essentially live life without a personality. And shit, that was _impossible_, for anyone. What he'd shown so far, what distinguished him at all, was that he was a criminal. Which wasn't even all that rare anyway. 

Here he was, with a decade under his belt of being told, "Who you are is unwanted and boring." And now Kyle had all these thoughts and opinions nearly bursting from him. But it was unclear to him whether or not he really had the right to show _any_ of that now. 

Could he refuse to eat meat? Would Horatio even appreciate it, _care_ about it? Or would expressing himself make this bizarre situation an impossible one? 

Suddenly feeling trapped in the brown recliner, Kyle quickly scrambled out of it. He glanced quickly around the room and knew the answer to his question. _Everything_ had its own spot, more than likely leaving no room for him.

The coffee table sitting parallel to one of the couches had crime, science, and medical journals stacked in separate, neat piles on it. Quickly leafing through a few, Kyle could see that all of the magazines were only a few months old. No clutter for Horatio. 

There were a few articles marked in each journal but not by folding the pages or anything like that. Instead, the redhead had used little tabs a person could buy at the store, which Kyle thought were a waste of money. 

Remote controls were lined up neatly on the top of the TV. The bookshelves sandwiching the television had tons of books – again, mostly science, crime, or medical-related. Most volumes were nicely made, the teenager decided. Running his fingertips along the spines, he could feel that a bunch were leather-bound, worn but still in excellent condition. 

It was almost pathetic, Kyle decided, how singularly minded Horatio was. Or seemed to be anyway. And the blond could only conclude that the redhead was very set in his ways – in what he liked and didn't. Which meant that… it'd just be an inconvenience to have a son with a personality. So the boy supposed he'd just have to keep that part of himself, whoever that might be, hidden for a little while longer. 

The idea had upset him earlier, he recalled – to be forced to live his life based on someone else's wishes. And the feeling still nagged at him now. But the reality of the situation was Horatio could send him to juvy. In other words…

It was either behave or go to jail. 

So there was no point in taking chances, in risking everything just so he could have tofu for dinner or a particular taste for things being done differently. The boy sighed in resignation at the thought. 

Having dissected the living room as much as he could, Kyle made his way through the dining room (which was too sparse and uptight to reveal anything) into the kitchen. The area didn't feel warm to the teen at all; it was like… the room had been stripped away of all warmth, of all meaning that a kitchen could have. From the white walls and black floors, it wasn't a place, he decided, to have heart-felt conversations or home-cooked family meals. 

Not that he really expected those things anyway. 

But one thing was confirmed, the boy thought brightly. The gray marble countertops only proved what he'd suspected – Horatio had money. In his position as lieutenant, the redhead probably didn't make a bundle. But at the moment, Kyle didn't really see what else the man would spend his money on. He very clearly didn't have any hobbies or interests lying outside of what he did for a living and up until now… no kids. 

Nothing like seeing his father have what he'd had to do without for years, Kyle thought bitterly. Once again resentment threatened to overtake him, but the boy tamped down on it as quickly as he could. It wouldn't do good to let his emotions get in the way; he knew that much, and with renewed purpose, he looked around the kitchen again. 

The counters were all clean, pretty bare. A fruit basket with a couple green apples, brown-speckled bananas, and tomatoes, which probably should have been in the fridge, sat to the left of a black stove. Kyle fiddled nervously with the oven's knobs and buttons. A tiny flame lighting underneath one burner, the teenager watched it, transfixed by it, for a moment before shutting it off. 

And then he saw it: the wine rack. 

It wasn't much, just a series of intricate iron knots sitting on the marble counter. Five bottles, three of them unopened, sat there practically crying out for him. He took a few steps closer, knowing that… he shouldn't be doing it. 

The purplish black glass felt cool and smooth under his fingertips. Each slight change in direction of his hand made the dark liquid inside slither around ever so temptingly. 

Fuck it. 

The bottle clanked a little as he pulled it through the iron wiring. Kyle jerked hard on the cork, and it easily came out. His dark eyes quickly glanced down to see how much wine was still inside. Only about half a bottle, he judged, so he'd only be able to gulp a little down before it would be noticeable. And _God_ – Horatio _would_ notice. Everything about this house suggested some form of anal-retentiveness, and at least until he felt comfortable, the teenager was _not_ going to try and get away with chugging booze. 

But a few sips – he could get away with that, and hell _yes,_ he was gonna do it, if only to calm his nerves.

The wine was warm going down his throat, making every inch of mouth feeling hot as he swallowed. Kyle wasn't a big fan of alcohol, and when he did drink, his choice of beverage was based on the criteria of what could get him drunk fastest. What he was sipping from the bottle now was meant to be savored, he could tell. But honestly, it just tasted like cough syrup to him. 

Still, right now, it felt _good._

A few more sips, and the teen carefully re-corked the bottle and placed it back in the wine rack. Turning it so that the label faced up, he made sure that everything looked exactly how he found it. And hopefully none would be the wiser. 

The liquor settling into his empty stomach, Kyle began to feel more at ease. It wasn't as nice as the soothing buzz weed gave him, but then again, he didn't want to be _too_ relaxed. After all, his mind needed to be aware, if only to spot all the skeletons in Horatio's closet – or wherever they might be. 

A quick glance in the fridge didn't give him much; the man had the essentials – eggs, milk, butter, and bread. And some Cuban take out sat towards the front, the brown bag rumpled. But that didn't exactly stand out either. This was Miami after all. 

So Kyle moved on to the small room next to the one he'd been given to use. Horatio had turned this into an office/library. A mahogany desk sat in front of a large window. There were some bills to look at, but quickly leafing through, the teenager didn't see anything interesting. Nothing that screamed, "Here lies Horatio Caine's bill from the local sex shop" or anything like that. Which was a good thing, the blond supposed. 

Of course it might have been easier to understand the man if there _was_ something like that laying around. 

The computer set up on the desk didn't yield any information; it was password protected, and… Kyle barely knew anything about Horatio. So unless the key words were, "Hi, I like science way too much," there was no snooping around the computer. 

A small bookcase sat next to the desk, but there were only a few books on it. And the teenager was _finally_ relieved to see something remotely telling. Because instead of science-y stuff, there were photo albums – and framed pictures lining the top shelf. His eyes scanned quickly through the captured moments on display. 

None of which featured his mother, he thought sadly. Not that he'd really truly expected it. Because if he and Horatio had gone this long without knowing each other, the redhead couldn't have been that close to his mother. Still… it seemed ominous to see the rest of the Caine family front and center, only he and his mother absent. 

But perhaps more interesting than that was a photo sitting towards the right of the bookcase. Surrounded by a shiny silver border was an image of the very woman who'd been following him only days previously. The picture was obviously old from the fading; a little boy grinning sat in her lap, and it hit him then just how _similar_ the woman was to his own mother. 

Why hadn't he noticed that before? 

He supposed the wine might have helped a little bit, but the likeness really was uncanny. And his eyes glancing over to another photo on the shelf, Kyle saw _another_ woman who easily could have been a sister to his mother and his stalker. It was _bizarre_, creepy even. 

Weirder still was the fact that this latest picture had Horatio in it too. The redhead was wearing a nice suit, and she was in a white dress, which meant… this was a wedding photo? 

But the man Kyle was living with clearly _wasn't_ married. For one, the teenager doubted Horatio could even approach a woman that hot. And, putting his own personal feelings aside, the blond couldn't see _anything_ remotely feminine in the house. It might have been stereotypical; he easily could have been full of shit, but this place seemed to be more bachelor pad than family home. 

Besides, if there really was a woman in the picture, Kyle doubted that _he_ would be here. This situation was difficult enough on his own. But having to explain that to a girlfriend or wife? 

Yeah, that was never gonna fly. So it was just as well that Horatio was all alone. 

The blond turned away from the shelves and looked around the room again. There were tons of books lining the other walls. They weren't all that different than the ones out in the living room. But they did seem to be weirder than the ones he'd looked at previously. Novels by Horatio Alger were stashed between various odds and ends, including a text about the forensic applications of bovine blood. 

What the hell kind of fucker _owned_ a book like that? 

And for Christ's sake, the teen thought, _how many uses could there even BE?_

He quickly snatched the book off the mahogany shelf and thumbed through it. There was a lot he didn't understand, and what little he could comprehend sounded absolutely disgusting. A few illustrations and pictures broke up the text, but they were at best foul – not interesting. 

But Kyle didn't put the book down. Because the truth was he _wanted _to understand. Maybe not the procedures discussed themselves, but… if he really was going to stay with Horatio, then comprehending this might mean… understanding the man a little bit. 

He thumbed through once more before tucking it under his arm. Right now, there was no way he'd be able to figure out what the hell it meant. But maybe… maybe he could eventually figure out on his own. Or… perhaps he could ask Horatio about it… at some point. 

But the thought was cut short by the sound of the front door practically slamming shut. 

Fuck. 

The book clattered to the ground. 

Kyle had been so wrapped up in his thoughts that he hadn't heard Horatio come home. Quickly, he picked up the book back up and scurried toward the study's doorway. And it was there that the blond practically ran into the redhead, although Horatio seemed to be headed towards his bedroom, unconcerned about the teen.

The two stopped where they were and looked at each other. There was something off about the man before him, Kyle thought. His blue eyes seemed… skittish, red around the edges as though he'd been upset. And everything else about his appearance seemed to be uncharacteristically disheveled. 

It was awkward, just standing there looking at one another. The teenager didn't really want to know that Horatio thought of _him_ at the moment. He probably looked seriously guilty, the blond thought. So Kyle spoke up, "Um… you need help with the groceries?"

Horatio looked at him blankly before realization struck. "There aren't any," he said quietly. And then much more softly he told the teen, "I'm sorry… Can… I just need some time to myself."

The conversation was over apparently. 

And if Kyle thought there was more to say, it didn't matter. Because the redhead turned and walked towards the master bedroom, shutting the door behind him. 

The teenager stood there numbly for several minutes, a small – _very small_ – part of him hoping that the man would come back. But it was obvious he wasn't, and it was idiotic to think that he would. 

And the whole minute of conversation served to cancel out whatever good the wine had done. 

Fuck fuck fuck. 

They'd only lived together what – a couple of hours? And _already_ the man was _lying_ and_ ignoring _him? 

Bitterness came back at renewed strength. Wave after wave crashing against his self-control, and the boy berated himself for even momentarily thinking things could be different. Because they wouldn't be – Horatio and he _would not be_ different. This wasn't a chance to start over. This was ever going to be a place of _love_ or _acceptance!_

They were never going to be father and son!

Kyle stormed back into the office and roughly shoved the book back in its place. 

This was, he decided, fighting back a sob that threatened to choke him, no better than jail. 

This_ was_ a prison. Just of a different sort. 

_(End 35?)_


	36. Chapter 35: Can't have any Other One

Author's Notes: Thanks to Little Horatio for the review. Even just a few kind words keep me going, so please feel free to read and review, everyone. Also thanks to my beta, Olly, for all of her help.

As a side note, please be aware that recently this website has discontinued, for lack of a better term, the use of certain "character-based" chapter breaks. Since _No Other One_ has plenty of chapters split by character, this was a huge problem over the weekend. I have, as far as I know, fixed all of the chapters that were screwed up in fanfiction(dot)net's desire to piss people off. But feel free to send me a PM if something isn't properly separated, and I'll fix it immediately. Thanks again for reading this far.

Disclaimer: I don't own the show.

**No Other One  
****Chapter Thirty-Five: Can't have any Other One  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_It is sometimes better to abandon one's self to destiny." – Napoleon Bonaparte_

She could feel the conflicting emotions in her son's body. It was impossible not to. He was so tense, so upset, that it was practically wafting off of him.

Her own anger had begun to wane, because even _it_ couldn't hold a candle to the almost overpowering exhaustion threatening to take hold of her. All she wanted to do was sleep, but there was no way she could leave her son like this.

Yelina was furious, but… in the back of her mind, part of her had already begun resigning itself to what had happened between her and the redhead. At least for the lies he'd told her, she might eventually be able to forgive. In all truthfulness, the brunette stubbornly didn't _want_ to. But she supposed it was in her nature. She'd managed to forgive her mother, her husband, and Rick Stetler for the things they'd done. It was just… inevitable, she thought.

And at least she had the knowledge that she'd hurt her brother-in-law with her words. They were even in that regard; forgiveness was what naturally came next. The alternative – never speaking to him again – just seemed… so impossible now that she'd had a chance to yell at him.

However…

For what Horatio had done to her son?

Never.

That was something Yelina knew she'd never get passed. There was nothing he could do to make her forgive him for _this. _That was asking too much. Her anger had slowly started to taper off, but every time she thought the flame had been extinguished, the brunette would look down at her son. And to her mind, for making Ray Junior hurt, there wasn't a circle of Hell painful enough that would be a suitable punishment.

The fire within her renewed itself at full force. Which _really_ didn't make the situation easy. She almost laughed at the thought. It felt like she was, at this very moment, a walking stereotype. And yet… not even the typical sayings about Spanish women and their tempers seemed to hold a torch to how she wanted to behave. Frankly, the pigeonhole of "heated Colombian female" was too small to contain each nuance of disgust and resentment and anger she felt.

And knowing she could eventually forgive Horatio for what he'd done to her was one thing. But actually setting all of that aside, going forward with their lives… that seemed like an impossible task. Because as a family, how could they ever hope to move on from _this?_

A new family member brought in this way was just too big to ignore. The things she'd said to Horatio, the angry words Ray Junior had said to her… that would always be vivid in their minds.

And how could she work with her brother-in-law, talk to him, celebrate birthdays and holidays with him, knowing that this had happened?

Yelina sighed quietly, running a hand over Ray's curls. He'd been silent for a while now, but words weren't exactly needed. Everything he was tempted to say she saw flit through his dark eyes; they were amazingly similar that way.

Yet it still surprised her to hear, only minutes later, the teenager speak up. "I…" His voice trailed off, but he swallowed hard and tried again. "When I saw you earlier – sitting at the kitchen table, I thought… that maybe… Dad was alive."

He punched the bed hard, the edge of his knuckles rapping against her kneecap. "I know it's stupid, but –"

"Your father has a habit of being alive when everyone says he isn't?" she offered, bitterness rounding off the edge of each of her tones.

His own – "Yeah" – sounded just as tart. "I did _not_ think that Uncle Horatio –"

"Me neither."

"I just don't understand this family's fucked up need to expand the gene pool in the douchiest way possible."

She rolled her eyes. "Raymond, you shouldn't talk like that… but I agree."

It was obvious though that her son had no intention of listening. Because he asked, "What's next – you fuck some random loser and get pregnant with his crack baby?"

"Of course not," Yelina said quietly, trying _not_ to snap at him. "I already have my hands full with you. More than that actually. Buying a goldfish would be a disaster. Another child? I don't even want to think about how horrible that would be."

Ray sat up suddenly, angrily. Gesturing towards himself, he snapped, "Right. Just blame it on me."

The brunette bit down on her tongue and ran a hand through her own hair this time. Frankly the temptation to rip out each and every curl was almost too much to ignore. But instead, she used the time to force herself to calm down. The teenager was being an idiot, she knew, but Yelina told herself over and over that he was also her son.

"Is that what I said?" she countered, the irritation unfortunately not gone from her voice.

"You didn't have to, all right?" He scrambled to his feet. "It's what _everyone_ thinks, though, isn't it? In this family anyway. You all believe that, if I weren't so _fucked up_, you'd all be happy, don't you?" He turned away from her and began to pace in front of his door. "If I were – I don't know – _less_ of a pain, or whatever you want to call it, Horatio and Dad wouldn't feel the need to –"

His voice was abruptly cut off by the sound of her fist connecting with his headboard. The loud smack practically resonated in the small room. Her hand hurt from the sheer force of it. There was no thinking before it happened, no conscious decision on her part to do it, and Yelina had to look at the wood to make sure she hadn't split it.

"_Stop it,_" she hissed in warning.

"No." And when he started to say more, it was her turn to get off the bed clumsily.

"_No. _You need to listen to me." Stalking towards him, Yelina couldn't help but once again take note of the fact that her son was only a few inches shorter than she was. But what little advantage she did have on him, she planned to use as best as she could.

"But –"

"Be quiet," she ordered. Taking a deep breath, she continued, "You want to believe this is all your fault?" She shrugged and threw her hands in the air in exasperation. "Then I guess there's nothing I can do to stop you. _But_ you should at least know that I will…" Her voice trailed off as she searched for the right words. Taking one of his hands in hers, she said much more gently, "I will _never_ agree with that conclusion. And for your sake, you should at least give me the opportunity to prove you wrong."

It was almost depressing how Ray Junior visibly hesitated then. In all honesty, Yelina hadn't… truly appreciated what a sullen teenager he had become. There'd been times in the past when she'd seen it – like after his father had actually died. But somehow she'd been able to write that off as… normal grieving. Now, though, she could see that it might be something more, that there might be something going on… what that was exactly, she had no idea.

"Fine," he relented, interrupting her thoughts. That did not, however, make her a welcome presence, as he yanked his hand out of hers.

"You may want to believe that this has something to do with you – some day I hope you'll tell me why. Because I can't…" No, she thought. This would go best if she tried to keep sentimentality out of the conversation. "I'd like to know the reasoning behind that," she told him earnestly. "But you should _know_ that it's _not_ your fault. And neither your father or Horatio would blame you."

His response was snotty: "You're just saying that."

"I'm not," she said, shaking her head furiously. "Horatio's son was born before I was even pregnant with you. You think your uncle has a knack for clairvoyance?"

She waited for an answer, half-thinking that maybe she'd said that last part a little too sarcastically. God help them if they kept going at one another like this. But all Ray did was bite down on his lip and look away from her.

He would never admit that he might be wrong – Yelina was almost too aware of _that._ But he wasn't hurling insults at her. And he wasn't yelling or crying about anything else at the moment. Which was as close to victory on the matter as she could ever hope to be.

"Can't say the same for Dad," the teen inevitably said.

"Your father…" There were... _so_ many horrible things the brunette could say about her husband. Honestly most of them would have done the job at the moment. But _none_ of them would be appropriate or appreciated.

And as tempting as it was, she couldn't completely forget the good times they'd shared; that was something she'd never been able to do. And bit by bit, hints of past conversations, of past times, eased their way into her mind. Running her tongue along her teeth to hide the smile threatening to overtake her, she finally said, "Your father was never an easy man to live with. He was passionate, _particular_, about a lot of things – the thickness of his deli meats and the kind of sheets he liked to sleep on."

It was… _unfair_ how she could remember each and every last detail of that time with him. There was no _need_ to still know how Ray would refuse to eat anything that had touched a pickle or how showing just a tiny _hint_ of her back would turn him on. Frankly, she'd settle for remembering how he liked his sandwich if it meant forgetting just how amazing the sex had been.

Ray Junior moved slightly then, reminding her that she still had an audience. Shoving the steamy memories out of her mind, she cleared her throat. No more thinking about screwing the hell out of her husband while their child was standing in front of her, she chastised silently.

"Anyway, at best, your father was a… picky man. But I know that he would have suffered through flannel sheets and the rest of it if it meant that I would do the one thing that truly mattered more than anything to him."

"What was it? Keeping a few kegs and kilos of blow on hand? A side dish of meth whore?" Ray asked sarcastically.

The smile that had played on her lips only moments earlier faltered, _fell_, but she pushed forward, passed the tinge of hurt. Would there ever come a time when that _didn't_ get to her? When it didn't get to _him_?

She cupped her son's cheeks. "Your father was adamant about having _one_ child."

"That's… _so not true._"

"It _is._ He hated feeling as though he lived in Horatio's shadow growing up. And he never wanted that for you. He _only_ ever wanted _you_, Raymond, and I'm sure that if I had gotten pregnant again…"

She sighed dropping her hands to her sides. Refusing to finish the thought, she moved away from that hunch. Instead, Yelina focused on the matter at hand. "You have a sister, but that has _nothing_ to do with you. It _does_ have everything to do with him and _his_ choices."

Ray shook his head violently. "And the only reason any of _that_ happened is because he left us! And there was a reason for that, right?" The teenager swallowed hard. "Happy people don't abandon their families, _right? _They stick around! So Dad either left, because _I_ was horrible – _or_ – because he didn't love us enough to stay."

Tears formed in his dark eyes, surely mirroring her own. "So tell me, _Mommy_, which one is it?"

She stood there stunned. Words she had uttered to Horatio only hours previously were now seemingly being thrown back at her.

God, Yelina wished she had an answer that her son would accept. Yelina wished she had an answer that she herself could believe. But the truth, as it always did with matters concerning her husband, eluded her. Good memories remained, constantly taunting her when she least expected it. But the exact reasoning for how things had ended up sometimes felt out of reach, as though they'd been swallowed whole, disappearing forever.

Of course, depending on her mood, she had different theories. And right now the one she had was one she would never, _ever, _tell her son. So she lied. "Your father loved you, more than anything else. He loved you," she repeated, placing emphasis on the words. "Adored you. Even when you were colicky and refused to sleep for more than a half an hour at a time. Even when you threw up all over him. Even when you flushed his watch and badge down the toilet. You were _everything_ to him, Ray."

She waited for it to sink in before continuing. "But he had a job to do. And he did it, and you know what happened. And there is nothing you could have done to change that."

"Fine," Ray snapped, tossing his hands in the air. "It was an accident – he didn't mean to. _Fine._"

It was hard to tell whether or not he actually believed her. The teenager didn't _sound_ all that convinced. But the sarcasm in his voice made it difficult to distinguish what he was feeling exactly – other than irritation and anger towards the whole situation. And even if Ray Junior _did_ accept what she told him as fact, that didn't automatically mean understanding that time in their lives was going to be any easier.

After all, Yelina had far more memories of that time than her son did; she'd had years to sit back and process her husband's choices. And yet she wasn't any closer to having the peace of mind she wanted for Ray.

But if he didn't believe what she said, the boy didn't press the matter from that direction again. Instead he changed topics, perhaps hoping to catch her in some sort of lie. "But obviously you _did_ want more kids," he pointed out accusingly.

She rubbed the back of her hand against her forehead and sighed. "I did, but – are you _looking_ for things to be blamed for, Ray?"

God knows if he was, the massive headache he was threatening her with was surely enough. And if it wasn't, then…

The mother had thought it before, but now she knew it to be true: her son made no sense sometimes.

"I just want to know how much you resent me so that when you betray me, I'll be prepared." There was no sarcasm now, none of that quick wit and sharp tongue that she was so familiar with. He was being honest, serious, and for the first time in a very long time, she _wanted_ that smart-ass side of him.

But this wasn't a joke. This was _real._ And it took her breath away – how this screwed up family had altered her son. Literally, Yelina couldn't breathe, could not stop the tears or the guilt from welling up inside of her.

She'd always been aware that Ray Junior wouldn't be the same. More than anything, when her husband had died, the mother had mourned the life they all _could_ have had together. The life that her son deserved to have, and she'd known then, just as she did now, that the chasm between that and what life he was going to have would be wide.

Sometimes though the difference seemed gaping – wide enough to fit a Grand Canyon of what-might-have-beens.

The bubbly little boy had grown into someone cold and inherently distrustful; aged beyond his years and hardened by it, Ray was no ordinary teenager. His mistakes were only proof of her own, she knew, and there was no apology big enough to make up for that.

Instinctively Yelina pulled him close. The hug she gave him was too little to make a difference, but fierce and protective nonetheless. It was the least she could do.

"Listen to me," she said hoarsely. "I would rather _die_ than hurt you. I would… _never_ blame you for the choices I've made." She stroked his hair softly. "Did I want other kids? Yes. Yes, of course! But you are an only child, and that is –"

"My fault," he interrupted, his voice muffled by his face pressing into her curls.

"No. _My_ choice," she finished. "When you were younger, of course, you could be a difficult child. I would have thought the hospital switched babies on me if you had been anything else. But _nothing_ you've done or could have done would have made me not want children."

She gripped his shoulders tightly and pulled him away from her so that she could look in his eyes. Or rather so that her son could see _hers_. "If I had gotten pregnant, nothing you or your father could do would have stopped me from having that baby."

The corners of her mouth turned upward at the thought. It had been so long since Yelina had contemplated this time in her life, and it felt almost bittersweet to do it now.

"I'd had you," she said gently. "And you were so…. _Perfect._ The way you looked at me – loved me when you were young. How could I _not_ want to have that happen as many times as I could?"

His olive cheeks became just a slightly redder shade, and he looked away. The "I'm sorry" he uttered barely audible. The brunette wasn't even sure he'd said it. But instinctively she knew that he had.

"This isn't your fault," she told him again, her voice louder and stronger. "I wanted to have more, but I don't. And I _don't_ cry myself to sleep at night, because it's just the two of us."

"'_Just_ the two of us'?" he asked, repeating her words and twisting them around.

"I don't mean _merely_ the two of us, Ray." Really, it was infuriating how he always read into what she said and manipulated it to the worst connotation possible. "I meant…" But she couldn't quite finish the words, because, frankly, she was tired of his mistrust.

Throwing her hands up in the air, Yelina asked, "What do you want me to say? That I blame you? That I hate you? That I plan to act like everyone else in this family?" She didn't wait for an answer. "That will _never_ happen, Raymond. Ever. You're my child. _My son. _And there is no place we will go, no area you can push me, where that _won't_ be true. You're the one thing in this world that I've always wanted – the only person I've ever _needed_."

She took a deep breath before saying, even more insistently, "I don't want other kids. I don't need them. There is no one else I would want for a son. There _is_ no other one – I _love _you, Ray."

And she pulled him into another hug then, for comfort as much as anything else. But also… somewhere deep down, Yelina knew that, after everything she'd said, she couldn't bear to see the disbelief in her son's eyes.

End (36/??)


	37. Chapter 36: Trying to fill the Holes

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, everyone, but both the beta and myself were sick. Anyway, hope this chapter is worth the wait. Special thanks to Olly for her help.

_Disclaimer: I don't own the show, so don't sue me. _

**No Other One  
****Chapter Thirty-Six: Trying to fill the Holes  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone." – Orson Welles_

If she'd thought she was exhausted before, Yelina didn't even know what she was now. There were no words to describe just how tired she felt. Fighting always drained her, and today had consisted of nothing but that, or so it seemed at least. And the worst thing about it, above all else, was that she hadn't been able to protect her son from it.

Ray shifted in her arms, gradually becoming more relaxed and accepting until he finally rested his head on her shoulder. Closing her eyes, she thought about the situation some more.

True, she could have lied, could have insisted that everyone keep quiet. But in the end, Yelina understood that that would have been a quick fix. So the only _real_ choice before her was to watch Horatio break her son's heart. Yet knowing that didn't exactly make things any easier, because… what it came down to was she thought she should have known this would happen.

And she had relished stripping the title of "father" away from Horatio, but honestly, Yelina didn't feel she had done a very good job at being a mother to her own son. It was hypocritical, of course. She wasn't so into her own pain that she couldn't see that part. But in a way, that had only served to deepen her ire. While so many other people would argue that her own shortcomings meant she needed to forgive him, all Yelina could think of was how wrong it was for him to undermine _years_ of parenting like that. As though her husband hadn't done enough of that already.

At that moment, Ray Junior shifted, his nose running back and forth along her shoulder. Inwardly the mother couldn't help but cringe; he was wiping his nose on her clothes, just as a child would. Her body naturally tensed at the action, and she could only imagine the kinds of germs he was giving her and how much the dry cleaning bill would be…

But she didn't push him away or say anything about it. Right now things were so tense between them that Yelina was afraid it would turn into yet _another_ fight. And given the way the day had gone, another argument seemed eminent, if something she couldn't handle.

So she quietly forced her attention elsewhere. Back to the problem at hand, the brunette decided that there was enough fight in her left to keep this family afloat. She would _not_ throw in the towel any time soon. Even if Horatio and his stupid brother insisted on breaking them, _she_ would do everything in her power to hold it together.

Which meant Yelina would not _fall apart_ over her brother-in-law's betrayal. She would not become an empty shell of a person or distrustful simply because those two found it impossible to be honest. And there was no way in hell, she decided, she would let her son carry this burden.

Pulling Ray Junior out of her arms, Yelina steeled herself for what might happen next. But looking into her boy's brown eyes, she could see the same resolve, which made her feel not quite so alone.

"We will get through this, Raymond," she said then, her voice filled with emotion.

"Yeah… whatever," he told her, pushing aside the matter at hand. The dismissal, she understood, was not meant to be hurtful. The teenager had just… reached his fill of talking about what Horatio had done. Frankly, Yelina felt the same way. So instead of responding or admonishing him, the mother let the comment slide.

Putting some distance between them, Ray Junior asked, "What's for dinner?"

She inwardly groaned. Sometimes, Yelina wondered if her son would ever be able to survive on his own. Emotionally, he could handle so much – more than he ever should have been forced to deal with. But there were other things that he was so… inept at. Cooking, cleaning – the brunette was almost sure of it now that Ray would need her to do that for… a good deal longer.

Knowing that wasn't anything new. It was a fact of life Yelina had come to accept long ago. And in a way, she had _enjoyed_ that duty; it had given her purpose, a reason to keep going, even when her husband had completely abandoned her.

It wasn't a perfect solution. That much she'd understood from the beginning. Taking care of her son to the best of her ability couldn't replace that ache inside of her for a companion, an equal – a _husband_. The mother could fawn over her child, but it wouldn't make everything better, and in the back of her mind, she understood… at some point he would grow up and leave. And whatever misery she'd staved off would renew itself at full force.

But she'd accepted the weight of caring and protecting Ray Junior. For the most part there was no desire to shrug it off, to want things to change. Only now did Yelina realize that maybe… it was more than she could handle. Because what had started out as a desire to parent well had turned into an obsession of sorts. It was all about pleasing her son and making sure he was happy, which sometimes hurt them both in the end. It meant never being able to set down that weight when she needed to.

Like now.

Yelina absolutely did not have the energy to worry about dinner. But instead of complaining, instead of telling Ray he'd have to fend for himself, all she did was sigh and say, "What do you want?"

Her son's brown eyes widened innocently, telling the mother that whatever he wanted would be time consuming. "Ajiaco," Ray Junior said earnestly.

Immediately she frowned. As much as the soup appealed to her at a time like this, Yelina did not want to end her day in the kitchen. "That will take _hours_ to make," she told him.

"Come on," Ray whined. "All you have to do is cut stuff up and put it in a pot. It's not like you actually have to _do _something."

Not persuaded in the least, Yelina retorted, "Then you can make it."

The look on his face was priceless. It would never occur to him to cook for himself – that situation hadn't ever really presented itself for before. And just the thought of doing it on his own made his features contort in disgust. "_Mom_," he complained.

God, she was weak and, after today, too tired to fight. "Fine," she caved, hating herself for it. But at least, Yelina thought, this day would end at some point. Who would be hurt more by that she didn't know.

With that in mind, she crossed the small distance to Ray's bedroom door. And just as she had one foot out into the hallway, the mother remembered something. Turning she told him, "You should do your homework now. You won't want to do it after you've eaten all that food."

"Homework?" he repeated in confusion.

She couldn't help but roll her eyes. "Yeah. I understand that it's probably been a while since you did any, but the concept –"

"I know what it is," Ray said snottily. "But why do I have to do it?"

"You have school tomorrow."

The teenager frowned, looking exactly like he did as a child whenever she told him no. "But… _why_ do I have to go? I don't get a three-day weekend?"

"Not unless it's given to you by the county," Yelina said cheerily.

"But –"

"Raymond," she interrupted, moving back into the room to be closer to him. Her voice softer, the brunette told her son, "You have to go. I know that you don't _want_ to, but… if I let you stay home every time something happened to this family, you would have never learned how to spell your own name."

"_Please_?" He was nearly begging, his eyes pleading with her.

And so she brought him into another fierce hug. His chin digging into her shoulder, Yelina told him, "You have to go. You can't afford to miss school, and… a distraction might not be such a bad thing, hmm?" It took a few minutes for him to relent, but eventually she felt him nod his head. "All right. I'll make dinner. You do your school work."

The mother offered him a kiss to the temple before leaving the room.

As soon as she was out the door, Yelina sneered at the thought of making ajiaco. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy the soup, because she did. The brunette had hundreds of memories of eating the dish, watching her mother and grandmother prepare it. And if there was one thing she'd learned in all of her years, it was that ajiaco was _not_ meant to be cooked quickly or in anger. Were it prepared too fast, the potatoes in the soup wouldn't break down, and using a masher just never compared.

With the second case, the brunette had rarely seen ajiaco made when its cooks were furious. After all, who wanted to spend time lovingly chopping and stirring in a hot kitchen when they were already irritable? Not her anyway, Yelina admitted to herself. And those few instances when her mother and grandmother had gone into the kitchen angry, the food had reflected it: watery soup, chicken that had been cut so aggressively that hunks of bone accompanied each bite. Of course, surpassing all of those little grievances, there'd been the single instance of a fire.

Standing in her empty kitchen now, Yelina could practically see the flames dancing along her stove top as it had back then. Silence was her only companion in the room, but if she thought about it, she could still hear the words her mother and grandmother had hurled at one another. How could the brunette ever _forget_ what had been said when it was that fight that led her family to move to the United States to begin with?

Yelina sighed, pushing the thought aside. Some things were best left in the past, and _that_ was one of them. In any case, if she were to attempt ajiaco, then her mind needed to be focused on that. And just as she told Ray Junior, the mother believed that maybe a distraction would be what she needed in this moment.

Blindly Yelina pulled a large pot out of a cupboard. She ran her hands along the black metal sides, turning it around, assessing it. Convinced that it would hold the amount of stew she wanted to make, the brunette filled it with water before placing it on top of the stove.

As she pulled out a whole chicken from the fridge, Yelina considered that perhaps she should have changed before getting started. But seeing as how her suit already had Ray Junior's breakfast and _snot_ on it, she understood all too well that it would need to be dry-cleaned. Besides, the sooner she got the ajiaco started, the sooner they could eat, and this day would be _over_.

Trying to cut a five-pound piece of poultry right now, though, was anything but easy. In theory, Yelina thought it could have been the perfect way to release all the frustration and anger and disappointment she was feeling. And looking down at the pale raw chicken, she could almost envision Horatio's face on the meaty breast in front of her. But as wonderful as it might feel to stab the dead bird repeatedly, the brunette understood that it probably wouldn't taste good. So all she could do was patiently cut through the meat, sectioning off pieces to put into the large pot.

There was no choice but to go slowly, and that meant she had plenty of time to relive her day. And Yelina thought then that it must have said something if the _highlight_ of her Thursday had been time with Rick Stetler.

As she placed the chicken into the pot of water, she remembered how the two had kissed. Instinctively the brunette glanced to the kitchen table where she had basically asked to get back together with him.

_That_ had been stupid, she thought, as she washed her hands. Really stupid – _incredibly_ so, because nothing good could come from dating Stetler again. In the very least, it would alienate Ray Junior… _more_. Her son would never forgive her for bringing Rick back into their lives, and Yelina _knew_ that that alone should have been enough to keep her lips to herself.

But if it were really that easy, she thought as she turned the stove on, then _why_ had she still done it?

Her mind briefly shifting back to the soup, the brunette searched through her pantry for the guascas she'd need to put in the pot with the chicken. Her manicured fingers snatched the bag of the grassy, green and brown herb. As odd as it might have been, Yelina had come to love the smell and would have enjoyed a garden full of the plant. But the herb was an invasive weed, which would kill anything else in a person's garden.

It was, in some ways, the perfect analogy to her relationship with Rick, she thought tiredly. He was a good man, no matter what others said. No matter what _Horatio_ said. Stetler wasn't easily manipulated by friendship, which she appreciated, and he often found himself doing the right thing even when it was unpopular.

Perhaps it was odd for her to respect him for it, given that he was an IAB agent. And though her love for her husband had diminished, the memory of trying to fight for his pension and protect his reputation hadn't lessened with time in the least. Yelina bitterly tossed the herb into the pot with the chicken at the thought. If she were honest, she realized, there would never be a day where that time in her life didn't bother her in some way.

She despised the agents who had relished in calling her husband a dirty cop, who _enjoyed_ stripping good men and women of their name. And maybe Rick had a little bit of that in him. But it wasn't his sole reason for doing his job, and… Yelina could see that he'd tried to keep her out of that part of his life. Even when he'd gone after Horatio and his team, Stetler had been careful never to use what had happened in their relationship against the CSIs.

Nevertheless, Yelina understood that they didn't work well as a pair. He might not have been swayed by friendship, but she _was_; loyalty mattered to her, which inevitably led to several fights and accusations that she was weak. And perhaps that wouldn't have been so bad, but they both had awful tempers as well, making a volatile situation even worse.

He'd hit her.

She'd hit him.

And in the end, Yelina hadn't learned her lesson, because she'd kissed him anyway.

But it seemed as though Rick _had_ changed, had learned something from the time they spent together. Because he hadn't said yes to dating… that only now did she really appreciate. As she pulled out the different kinds of potatoes she would need for the ajiaco, Yelina felt relief course through her. Stetler could have used her in any way he wanted today. Given the jumble of emotions she felt thanks to her brother-in-law, the IAB agent still _could_, more than likely, take advantage of her.

The relief didn't last long though.

As she started cutting the potatoes, Yelina couldn't help but feel that distinct loneliness that had become her constant companion. It had been there when her husband had faked his death, was there every single time Horatio pushed her away, and now… Now there was no hope of ever being with the redhead; he'd ruined that. And while Rick would have inevitably been a disaster, Yelina thought she'd prefer the illusion of companionship over the reality that she was in now.

Taking care of Ray Junior filled her heart with joy, but it was not enough to make her feel whole. She'd tried to convince herself that it was enough, but now there was no denying that she needed more. And thanks to Horatio, that little fantasy she'd had in her head (the one where he would be with her and ease her pain, console her, and make her _happy_) was gone.

Yelina quickly pushed the thought aside and focused on the soup once more. But for a tiny moment, she could no longer avoid just how lonely she really was.

_End (37/??)_


	38. Chapter 37: A Great Divide

Author's Note: Thanks to my beta for all of her hard work. Remember to read and review.

_Disclaimer: I don't own the show. Don't sue me for putting my plot bunnies to use._

**No Other One  
****Chapter Thirty-Seven: A Great Divide  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_There are times when silence has the loudest voice." – Leroy Brownlow_

Horatio sat in his bedroom for what felt like an eternity. The sun had almost completely set now, casting the quiet room in a haze of silver and grays. The next-door neighbors were throwing a party, it seemed, the din of chatter filtering into the room. Though the redhead couldn't quite make out the words they were saying, it was obvious that everyone involved was having a nice time. They were enjoying the last few days of summer and each other's company.

And for a moment, Horatio smiled at the thought, only to remember how he had ensured his own family would _never_ do things like that together.

His nephew despised him. Yelina didn't want anything to do with him. And Kyle didn't trust him.

His other family, his team, was probably going to feel the same way. Calleigh had begun to come around, but she had always trusted him and forgiven him for his shortcomings. The blonde had never been sentimental about that fact; the bond they seemed to share was one easily missed by most. But Horatio knew it existed, because she'd done so much for him.

That included helping him shake what could have been a murder charge.

He'd been innocent then, of course, but she'd never wavered in her belief that he was a good person. And yet… when it came to his son, Calleigh _had_ faltered. He didn't blame her for it, but that didn't take away the sorrow he felt. She could defend him against the most heinous crime imaginable, but as soon as he did something wrong, that trust was shattered. Granted, the CSI had begun to forgive him, but they were still a long ways away from being as close as they once were. And there was a good chance that she would never again trust him like she once had.

Horatio shifted on his bed at the thought. His hands tucked behind his head, his blue eyes stared aimlessly at the shadows dancing around his ceiling. He should get up and make sure that Kyle was okay, he told himself. The boy was probably hungry by now, and the redhead was sure taking care of that fell under the category of things he had to do as a father.

But his limbs didn't want to cooperate, because they, like the rest of him, didn't want to deal with the world outside of this room. It was selfish, yes. Childish, obviously, but Horatio wasn't ready to come to terms with what had happened. Before he'd gone to Yelina's, the redhead had told himself that she would be angry and he would have to accept that. He'd _known_ that he would end up here, that his friends and family would resent him when they found out.

He'd known it was going to happen, but… it felt differently to be living that life now. Even though he'd pictured it to be hell, Horatio understood now that the actual experience was far worse. Because he hadn't imagined the harsh words his sister-in-law had said to him. Exacting in their delivery, her insults and insinuations had wounded him; the blows he'd anticipated, but Yelina had gone far beyond what he could have ever pictured her saying.

So too had Horatio underestimated just how much it would hurt to tell Ray Junior. He'd known it was going to happen, but in that moment, watching his nephew's eyes turn to anger and scorn was… more horrible than words could ever properly describe.

And worse than anything was knowing that he deserved it. His friends and family would hate him, and in Horatio's own eyes, they had every reason to.

The thought chilled him to the bone, froze him in his place. How he'd ever managed to drive home, the redhead would never know. His mind couldn't move beyond this day, passed the horrible things Yelina had said.

She'd wanted to kill him.

_Many people_, Horatio understood, probably wanted to murder him. But his sister-in-law had always cared about him. To have her join the ranks of people who resented him… There were no words to describe just how much that hurt.

But it was his own doing; this was _his_ fault and no one else's. And the longer he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the clearer that thought became.

It was all his fault.

Guilt throbbed within him like a healing bruise accidentally pushed. As much success as he'd had in his life, as much as he'd been able to overcome his childhood, there were also _many_ glaring failures. And this just seemed to be one more error on a long list of mistakes.

Which hardly made him exceptional in his family. His brother, his father – they'd all gone down this path, and it _killed_ Horatio to know that he was now venturing on that same journey. A large part of him, the one that always felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, seemed resigned to it.

But there was another part of him – the fighter – that was determined to put an end to the pattern of screwing up and then screwing up your child. Horatio sat up straight then on the bed. Realization crept down the back of his neck, burning a path along his spine. Here he'd been mourning his relationship with his nephew and sister-in-law and _Kyle_…

Well, the redhead had forgotten all about his son. He ran a hand through his hair. That was _horrible_, he thought. He'd barely had the boy in his custody for more than a few hours, and he'd already lied to him and pushed him away.

But that would end now.

Horatio stood up, determined, and marched to the bedroom door. He was not, he told himself, giving up hope – not when it came to his son, himself, or his family. Yelina and Ray Junior were mad now, and so would his team when they all learned the truth, but they would all eventually come around; they _would_. And in the meantime, there was no point in pushing the one family member he had left away.

The redhead yanked open the bedroom door and, with his head held high, walked out. Over the past twenty-four hours, his spirits had taken him on a rollercoaster ride. He'd gone from thinking he wouldn't be able to get Kyle out of jail to triumphantly being able to do that to pleading with Yelina. And he doubted anyone would fault him for throwing his hands in the air and quitting.

But now that Horatio was determined to do the right thing, he found himself rebounding. Yelina's words and Ray Junior's face had already begun to fade from the forefront of his mind.

His blue eyes looked left and right for any sign of where Kyle might be. The need to talk to the boy was almost overwhelming. Glancing over to the guest bedroom, which was now Kyle's room, the redhead didn't see any lights on. So he headed towards the living room, and there he was; it was so powerful, Horatio realized, seeing his son in his home. A yearning to be close to the teenager began to pull at him.

Unfortunately, the blond was seated rather stiffly on the leather sofa, his brown eyes trained on the muted television in front of him. There was no acknowledgement from Kyle – no "hey" or a head tilt. There was nothing; the teenager acted as though Horatio wasn't even in the room.

And despite wanting to do the right thing, the redhead found himself clenching his jaw nervously. Defeat once more crept up on him; he could want to be a father, but it was obvious in the way Kyle acted that _he_ wasn't looking for that. Horatio hadn't been looking for… hugs and kisses, but…

What had he been thinking, the redhead almost wondered allowed. He couldn't do this – there was just no way he could be a parent to this boy who wanted nothing to do with him.

Panic began to overwhelm his senses. But as he turned to go back to the master bedroom, Kyle spoke up. "You okay?"

The older man spun around, his blue eyes meeting the dark ones looking at him as though he were crazy. There was no real sympathy being offered here, Horatio realized. It was a cursory question at best, nothing more. But…

Maybe if they went through the motions of being a caring family, they could eventually become that.

"Hmm," Horatio responded non-committed. Changing the subject, he asked, "Are you hungry?"

"I could eat."

"All right," he said, nodding his head. There was an awkward pause, and Horatio felt the need to break the silence as quickly as he could. "Uh… well, I didn't make it to the store, Kyle. So I guess we'll have to order in." God, this was painful, the redhead thought to himself.

"That's cool," Kyle told him with a shrug.

"There's a burger place just down the block. They deliver… is that all right with you?" he asked hesitantly.

Unless Horatio was very much mistaken, the teenager before him shifted almost imperceptibly then. There seemed to be a slight hesitation on the boy's part, though the redhead couldn't understand why. Maybe he didn't want greasy food. Perhaps Kyle didn't want anything to with him at all.

Whatever the reason, it seemed to pass as Kyle nodded his head. "That's fine."

Under any other circumstances, Horatio probably would have pressed the matter. His years as a CSI had taught him to see beyond the surface of things. Whether it was a wiped-down crime scene or a carefully crafted façade, the redhead had learned to find the truth amongst deception. And the way Kyle was behaving… there was something else going on. Something beyond the natural awkwardness of their situation, Horatio believed.

But what could he do about that now? This was _not_ an interrogation; explanations weren't easily owed, much less given. And perhaps, the redhead had some right to know what was going on as Kyle's father, but… at the moment, that was in title only. He hadn't _earned_ the right to ask.

So he let the matter drop. Except for a brief interlude of discussing drinks, the two remained silent until well after the food arrived.

Now sitting quietly at the kitchen table, they ate their dinner. Save for the occasional slurp of coke or a "This tastes good," there was no noise, no conversation, nothing to make Horatio feel like he was eating with someone. And it shouldn't haven this difficult, he lamented. After everything that happened, there was so much that needed to be discussed.

But there was only silence.

Until finally he couldn't take it anymore. "I, uh, suppose you want to know what happened earlier," Horatio said slowly. Kyle bit off part of a fry and shrugged. "Well, I did plan on going to the grocery store," he lied. "But… I learned that my sister-in-law – you've met her, Kyle."

"Did I?"

"She was the private investigator I hired to follow you around."

"Oh… I didn't know." The words were uttered quietly, in a voice so unlike what the redhead had heard during the boy's interrogation.

In fact thinking about it now, Horatio thought that Kyle seemed like an entirely different person – hesitant, shy, meek. It was the exact opposite of what he'd seen from the teen in the last two or three days. And Horatio didn't know what to make of it. It was so _odd_, and he couldn't help but think that the teenager wasn't being totally honest. The only question for him now was deciding which personality, if either, was real.

Of course, Horatio admitted to himself, _he_ wasn't being completely genuine either. Even now, he was lying about the grocery store. A small lie, but one nevertheless, and knowing that made the task of being a family with Kyle seem all the less possible.

But he'd decided to try that the moment he'd protected his son from prison. So there was nothing else to do but to _keep_ trying. And pushing aside his doubts, Horatio continued, "Well… she learned you existed."

"Right." The teenager's voice didn't give away much. But the way Kyle paused as he drank some more of his soda _did_ pique Horatio's curiosity.

"So… I didn't make it to the store, because I needed to make things right with her," he finished quickly.

Kyle looked over at him. "Did you?"

The redhead knew that lying wouldn't work here, given his behavior when he'd come home. It would just be too easy to see through anything other than the truth. Still… the _truth_ in all of its glory was one he hadn't planned on sharing – ever. So the redhead decided that a… _limited_ view of things would work best. "Obviously, she's… _unhappy_ with me right now. But I've apologized –"

"Oh."

Too busy reliving the event once more in his mind, Horatio failed to see how his son was taking this information. "So I think it will be resolved soon," he finished quickly, pulling himself out of his thoughts. "She just… needs some time…"

The contradiction was evident, even to himself, but there was no taking back the words that now seemed like a lie. No, he corrected. They _were_ a lie, because Horatio had no idea if or when Yelina would forgive him. He'd hurt her before but not like this. And she'd forgiven him, after being angry for a small chunk of time, but… this was different.

This was worse.

The uneasy silence drifted over the two once more. And shortly after, Kyle stood up, announcing, "I think… I'm gonna go to bed." When Horatio glanced at the clock to see that it was barely 8:00, the boy admitted, "I know it's early, but…" The thought went unfinished, but the redhead understood that the day had been long for both of them.

"Right," he said lamely.

"Okay… night."

"Good night, Kyle."

The teenager quickly disappeared into his bedroom down the hall, leaving Horatio with the dishes. But it wasn't until long after the redhead had finished tidying his house that he realized what he had done. As he lay in bed once more, reliving the day for what felt like the thousandth time, Horatio understood, _saw_, that he had told Kyle that he had apologized to Yelina.

He'd apologized for the boy's _existence_, or so it would probably look like to the teenager. And… Horatio had _blown_ it. He hadn't even thought about it…

He hadn't even seen it at the time.

And lamely, the redhead thought that, if this were to work at all, he would need plenty of lessons on how to be a parent. That it didn't come naturally for him filled Horatio with such a strong sense of defeat that he was unable to sleep for hours. His _failure_ chased away almost all hopes of slumber.

He was just no good at this parenting stuff. And the worst part of all was this: there was only one person he trusted and respected enough to ask for help.

And _she_ was no longer talking to him.

* * *

She paused, her spoon in mid-air as her son asked, "Are you ever going to speak to Uncle Horatio again?"

Yelina turned and looked at Ray junior, his eyes trained on her in curiosity.

It was a loaded question, one that she wasn't all that prepared to answer. Because, in all honesty, the sister-in-law didn't know how to address the situation anymore. She'd yelled at the redhead, berated him. But where the path headed next… she didn't know.

There were no words of advice her mother had imparted on her has a child; this hadn't been taught in school or the police academy. No maps or road signs, no light to illuminate what her next step should be, Yelina felt incredibly tentative and unsure. Which was so unlike her, she realized; normally, the brunette would make a choice and see what would happen.

Was it impulsive? Maybe, but Yelina herself preferred to describe it as… not lamenting her decisions. But after Rio, after her marriage to her husband had ended once more in his death and her pain, she couldn't do _that_ anymore. And now, the choices before her needed to be carefully considered, lest she hurt her son _again._

Should she cut Horatio out of her life for good?

That question weighed heavily on her mind. In so many ways, it felt anathema to what she could do. He'd been a part of their lives for so long, and he'd helped her in ways Yelina hadn't imagined possible. Cutting him off meant she could _never_ forgive him, that she could never assist him in the way he had her… and the brunette wasn't sure she could do that.

Especially since part of her was resigned to always having him in her life. In Rio she'd missed his company horribly, and that lonesome year had only furthered her conviction that having Horatio in her life was something she _needed._ Maybe, if Ray had treated her better, that wouldn't be true. But as things were, her brother-in-law had almost always been around to help her.

Not to mention, if cutting him out had been that simple… well, Yelina probably would have already done that. Because, as good as Horatio could be to her, their relationship always ended up causing problems. He would help her, and she would use it as a foothold to get closer to the elusive man. And for a brief amount of time, he would let her… before getting scared and pushing her away, leaving her heartbroken.

The back and forth _always_ led to _her_ being the one hurt. But she'd never managed to get rid of him or her feelings for him, and even now… Yelina wasn't sure she could do it. Besides never speaking to him again meant destroying any hope for that happy ending she'd chased for so many years.

And it definitely meant that he would _never_ be able to offer her a sufficient apology for his _lies_. Anger renewed itself within her, making her grit her teeth. The brunette doubted he would ever be able to find the words adequate enough to soothe her feelings of betrayal… but that didn't mean she wanted to prevent him from trying.

That didn't mean she didn't want to see him grope about for the right words just as she had done so in the hopes of capturing his heart.

Placing her spoon back in the bowl of ajiaco with a clatter, Yelina looked away from her son for a moment. She needed to find the right words to express what she wanted to say. The brunette ran her tongue along her teeth to buy herself some time. But when, after a couple minutes, the words she wanted weren't going to show, Yelina understood she'd have to fake it.

Turning to Ray Junior once more, she told him, "I don't really know, Ray. I've gotten my old job back – at least I will after a few tests," she announced.

The look on her son's face was anything but thrilled. But then again, Yelina hadn't honestly expected it to be when it came to her career. Trying to avoid a fight, she pressed on, "Realistically, I won't be able to ignore him at work."

"But outside of that?"

"I… don't know, honey."

She waited for him patiently to respond, because the mother understood all too well that this wasn't the end of the conversation – no matter what his momentary silence suggested.

And finally, Ray asked, "What about me? Do I have to talk to him?"

Carefully Yelina considered his words and the way he had tentatively spoken them. Eating a bite of the chicken stew to buy herself some time, she contemplated how best to answer him.

Was he looking for her approval to completely sever ties with Horatio? Or did he want subtle encouragement to let him know that it was okay to reach out to his uncle?

True, there was no denying her son was angry with the redhead – or at least _had_ been. Because looking at him now… it was impossible to see in the minute lines of his face what he wanted to hear. And she wasn't even considering what she'd told Horatio.

The brunette recalled how she'd said that she would encourage Ray Junior to speak to him. But _that_ had been a lie, uttered for the sole purpose of making her brother-in-law leave. And it had worked, just as she had known it would; Horatio had left, and she'd been able to tend to her son, but… now she almost felt beholden to the promise. Because if she were going to be angry with the redhead for lying, then… Yelina believed she herself needed to stay true to her word.

Swallowing hard, she finally spoke. "I can't decide that for you, Ray," she answered gently.

His response, however, was anything but soft. "Funny, you've never _not_ had an opinion on who I talk to before." He crossed his arms accusingly.

"Next time your uncle is a fifteen year old child with his learner's license and a penchant for drinking and stealing, perhaps I will be more opinionated. If this were a matter of your safety, yes, I would have _plenty_ to say. That is not the issue here. If you wish to speak to him, Raymond, then do so when you are ready. If you don't want to, I can't force you, and I won't try. Finish your ajiaco," she ordered irritably.

But Ray ignored the command, instead twisting in his seat to look at her more clearly. "You're only saying that, because you told him you would tell me to talk to him," he accused. "Or else you'd be saying to never speak to Horatio again."

"Oh really?" she snapped back.

"Yes."

"I understand that you're upset, but I would have _thought_ that it would cross your mind that _maybe_ I am giving you a choice, because I _don't_ know what to tell you to do." She stood up, taking both their bowls to the sink and dropping them in angrily. As Yelina started to wash the dishes, she said, "I don't know what you should do, because I myself have no idea how to handle this _mess_."

She scrubbed vigorously at the remnants of soup for a moment before calming down. Turning around and looking at him, the brunette said quietly, "If I knew in my heart that a relationship with Horatio would only cause you more pain, then it would _never_ matter what I'd told him. _Never_."

The "I know" her son admitted was so quiet it was almost impossible to hear.

"How you handle your uncle is your choice, one that I can't make for you. But," she added, gingerly. "I know you, and I don't believe you will be happy without him in your life. And… in the very least, I know you will want an explanation from him. You won't be satisfied until you get that."

Silence would have descended over the kitchen, if it weren't for the sound of water dripping from the bowls onto the stainless steel sink. And when Ray Junior didn't say anything, the mother turned back to her task of cleaning up the mess dinner had made.

So focused on what she was doing, Yelina did not hear her son stand up. Not until he was right next to her, his face buried into her shoulder, did she realize he'd moved at all. She turned off the water rushing into the sink and turned to face, him, pulling him into a hug once more.

"I don't think I can face him," Ray Junior mumbled into her hair. "I want to know why, but I… don't want to _talk_ to him."

She sighed, letting the sad words wash over her. "Honey… you don't have to decide tonight. Give it some time."

"Yeah." But when the mother went to caress his cheek, he quickly pulled away from her wet hands. His nose scrunched up in disgust, he whined, "I don't want your dish hands touching me."

Rolling her eyes, Yelina turned back to her task, knowing that the small moment between them was over. And as Ray walked away, she called out to him, "And don't just go play videogames. You have school tomorrow; do your homework." She didn't have to turn and look at him to know that the teenager was probably plotting some way to get out of school. So she warned him half-jokingly, "I mean it – if I have to drag you by your hair, you're going."

"Then I guess I'll be shaving my head," he said simply as he disappeared into his room.

The light-hearted moment was just what she needed to end this awful day. The warm tone of her son's voice was almost enough to make her forget the fight with Horatio and all the nasty things she'd said. But not really, because the more she thought about it, the more Yelina couldn't help but wonder: if today could turn out so horribly, _what_ would tomorrow bring?

_End (38/??)_


	39. Chapter 38: Old foes Return

Author's Notes: Thanks to OkieBeth05 for her review. Feedback is the best thing an author can have. Also a tremendous thank you to my beta, Olly, for all of her help. Remember to read and review!

_Disclaimer: I don't own the show. _

**No Other One  
****Chapter Thirty-Eight: Old foes Return  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_The most important of life's battles is the one we fight daily in the silent chambers of the soul." - David McKay_

In complete contrast to the previous day, the morning got off to a smooth and drama-free start. Ray Junior had not (thankfully) shaved his head, nor did his dark curls turn into a makeshift leash for Yelina to drag him to school with. All in all, the brunette thought, the morning had progressed so far without incident, and for that, she was grateful.

Of course that would probably change, Yelina realized, as she slipped on a pair of black heels. When she'd quit her job, her boss had originally demanded two more weeks of work. And the brunette hadn't thought of it as an odd request at all, but it wasn't exactly one she'd wanted to fulfill. P.I. work was dangerous, more so than she'd originally wanted to admit, and the longer she stayed in it, the more likely, it seemed, that something would happen.

Ironically it had been Kyle Harmon, the boy who had changed everything, who made her want to quit this job. Looking at his case file had been a wake up call for her, and she'd finally been able to see what it was Horatio and her son had been so afraid of. And now that Ray Junior didn't trust her brother-in-law… getting out now seemed more important than ever.

So late in the previous night, Yelina had called her employer, desperate to abandon the job she'd taken barely over a year ago. Whether it was lucky or unlucky for her that he'd made a deal with her, she wasn't sure at the moment. He'd agreed to release her from two weeks' worth of work in exchange for spying on his wife, whom he suspected of cheating.

Tucking a few curls behind her ears, Yelina couldn't help but think that this single job was going to be more dangerous than anything else she would come across in two weeks. Following ex-convicts and people suspected of crimes was one thing; getting involved in family disputes was something else entirely.

If anyone understood how messy those kinds of entanglements could be, it was her. And she could only hope, as she wiped a stray bit of lipstick off of her full lip, that nothing would go wrong today.

But it was clearly not meant to be.

As she opened the front door to leave the house, Yelina was stopped dead in her tracks by the man in front of her.

"Rick." The surprise in her voice was obvious, almost as much as the smirk forming on his face. Unable to stop herself, the brunette could feel her eyes widen.

Granted, he'd said he would call her (he hadn't), but there seemed to be no reason for him to show up on her door step.

And if the reasoning behind that didn't seem obvious, then there was absolutely no explaining what he did next. As Yelina opened her mouth to ask why he was there, Rick closed the small distance between them. He was so close to her that she could practically feel the warmth (not to mention the lust) radiating off of his skin. His eyes were filled with intent, so dark that their normally brown color looked black to her.

Not a fraction of a second seemed to pass before his lips descended onto hers, capturing them in a passionate kiss so unlike the one they'd shared yesterday. Her question was all but forgotten, swallowed whole by his desire for _her._ Just as his tongue demanded entrance, so too did the thought niggle in the back of her mind that this wasn't right.

She should pull away, should push him backwards. But the way his lips pressed against her own, the desire held within the motion, was too intoxicating to fight. Her resistance broken, Yelina found herself pulling Rick closer. Her hands tangling in his dark hair, she brought him nearer still.

But the kiss could not go on forever, and perhaps ironically, it was Stetler who pulled away first. The smirk on his face had turned into a grin at her own lack of control, and immediately, she regretted it.

Tucking a curl behind her ear, Yelina cleared her throat and finally asked the question that had plagued her mind. "What are you doing here?" The accusation in her voice only seemed to make his smile widen.

It was then that he held up both of his hands, revealing the cups of coffee in them. "Brought you a latte."

Greedily, the brunette took the white cup from his hands. There was no denying that this was a bribe of sorts. But at the moment, Yelina was more than willing to be tempted with caffeine; yesterday had left her exhausted, and a single night's sleep had only so much restorative power. Taking a tentative sip on the hot beverage, she savored the way the rich liquid felt against her tongue before swallowing. "Thank you," she said softly.

Rick nodded his head and drank from his own cup. "I also think we need to talk… about yesterday."

Despite her best efforts, she couldn't help but groan. "I don't want to -"

"I changed my mind, Ellie," he admitted.

Yelina scowled at the nickname. "I _really_ wish you wouldn't call me that."

His free hand snaked around her hip, possessively grabbing her. "You're not listening to me," he said in a voice that held only a hint of teasing. "I said I didn't want to… get back together, but I've been thinking about it since then…" Rick didn't add anymore, and he didn't need to. The way his eyes gazed at her intently was enough for her to see what he wanted. And between the walls of the front foyer and Rick himself, Yelina couldn't help but feel trapped. Dread began to knot itself in her blood, forcing itself through her entire body painfully. "I want a relationship with you, Yelina."

Her lips parted, forming an o in shock. What she should say in response, the brunette didn't know. While it was true that she'd wanted him back yesterday, her words and feelings had been guided by her anger towards Horatio. It had been wrong to use Rick in that way, she knew it. Had known it. Yelina should have been smarter, should have pushed him away, but… what was done was done, and now she would need to find a way to let Rick down easily without incurring his wrath.

"Rick…" But the words she wanted would not come, which, she thought ruefully, was becoming a common occurrence for her these days.

"Now look," he said, raising a hand to halt her. "I know that we've had our problems. But I just think that if we were to talk about –"

"Well, I can't talk now," Yelina responded quickly, glad for the way out. Glancing down at her watch dramatically, she explained, "I have work."

"But you haven't passed the tests required to get you reinstated," Rick said accusingly.

"I mean my _other_ job, Rick. I've been hired to follow a woman for the day. And if I don't leave soon, I won't be able to do that." The irritation was evident in her voice, and honestly Yelina couldn't have been more pleased about that.

Yet the dark-haired man did not leave, much to her dismay. "I'll come with you then."

"You can't –"

"You just said you're watching someone," he argued lightly. "You're not interviewing people; I don't have to work today. It's perfect – I'll keep you company."

The "I don't want your company" she wanted to hurl back at him was dancing along the tip of her tongue, ready to be said. But she held back. Because, while it would temporarily make her feel better, it wouldn't end the conversation; things like that never had.

Rick would see it as proof that Yelina was looking for a fight. And knowing him, proclamations of anger management or no, he would give her one.

Faced with that prospect, all the brunette could say was, "Fine. Come with me. But I'm driving."

He nodded his head in agreement and watched on as she locked the front door. Yelina understood she was giving him exactly what he wanted, even if it was only temporary. But this way she'd be able to do her job for the last time… and hopefully find some way to tell Rick that she no longer wanted him.

As Yelina started the car, she wondered if she'd be able to tell him without completely obliterating the tentative ceasefire they'd established. One look at Stetler, though, and she knew it would be impossible. That just wasn't how they worked.

Resigned to her fate, she pulled out of her driveway, Rick and dread her only companions.

* * *

Horatio sighed tiredly as he looked through the file's contents once more. Unable to sleep more than a few hours, the redhead had gotten up especially early. The pending meeting with social services had made him nervous, forcing his mind to work despite the hour.

He'd tried to console his own fears with the knowledge that it was either his home or jail for Kyle. The plea bargain had stated as much, and Horatio doubted _anyone_ would think that prison was the better choice.

But knowing that hadn't staved off the fear that something horrible would happen. What if they asked him a question the redhead couldn't answer? He barely knew anything about his son, after all. It wasn't out of the realm of possibilities that they would ask him about things his son liked or did – which Horatio had no clue about.

What if they asked Horatio about his past? About his father and mother or his wife? That alone made the redhead feel sick to his stomach. On any given day, he wouldn't want to talk about it. But now, now when his answers would matter, when he would be judged as a parent by what he said… it terrified him.

What if they asked about the bruises on his son's face, which Horatio himself had _caused?_

In his own mind, there was no justification for it. Yes, he'd been in the middle of an interrogation; yes, he'd been _so angry_ by what the boy had done to Yelina. But none of those circumstances seemed to matter anymore. And they certainly wouldn't be a factor for social services. All they would hear is Horatio had assaulted his own son, and they would decide his parenting was _not_ something the boy could benefit from.

Unable to change or ignore that fact, the redhead had decided, in the very least, he could work hard to know _something_ about Kyle Harmon. Obviously, at 5:30 in the morning, the teenager hadn't been awake. But Horatio still had the file his sister-in-law had copied for him. It had given him pause, when he'd pulled the file out of his desk drawer – the fact that Yelina was the one who had given him this.

Ever since he'd known her and… found himself wanting her, Horatio had tried to deny it, had tried to push her out of his life. When they'd been working together, that had been almost impossible. But after she'd returned from Rio, it had been easier to ignore her. So much so that over the past year, the redhead had barely seen the woman at all. It had been… _cruel_ perhaps to leave her alone, to box himself off like that. After Marisol's death, though… he hadn't been –_ wasn't_ – sure he could open himself up again.

But the fact of the matter was it hadn't mattered that he'd tried to push Yelina away; he'd needed her, depended on her, and that was more evident now than ever. Because without her help, the father wouldn't even have this file. And while it was hardly a comprehensive guide to his son, it would contain, he had realized, everything social services would know.

Obsessively Horatio read and reread all the materials in the manila folder. Birth date, social security number, the names of all of his previous foster parents – those things were easily remembered and stored in the back of his mind. Other kinds of information, the schools Kyle had attended, his grades, and the sports he'd played, took longer to remember. But that too eventually layered with the other facts Horatio had learned.

And there was the _other_ stuff, the things that the redhead wished hadn't happened but refused to forget or ignore. Reading once again about Julia's murder and the year of silence for Kyle that had followed was difficult – to say the least. Each and every gory detail made Horatio wonder if social services would blame him for his son's horrific past. They could – probably even should – blame him for it. After all, if he'd known his kid existed, _none_ of that would have happened. Which made the redhead ask himself: if he felt _this_ guilty about his son's childhood, how much did _Kyle_ blame him for it?

It was a question Horatio hoped never to have the answer to.

Maybe, of course, if Kyle didn't blame him, he would want to know. But the chances of that seemed so unlikely that the redhead decided to err on the side of caution. What he didn't know in this instance wouldn't hurt him, and he was… okay with that. Content, no, as Horatio was sure the question would gnaw at him until he _did_ ask the boy. But for now, anyway, not knowing was for the best, and the redhead didn't feel the urgent need to pick the scab.

As quickly as he could, Horatio read the file once more. And after doing so, the redhead finally felt as though he had a good grasp of its contents. He could name every foster parent, every school, every extracurricular activity, and every psychologist the boy had been to. Which was probably more than an overworked social worker could do, he thought happily. And in his mind, Horatio began coming up with all the potential answers to the questions social services might ask him.

What euphemisms would work, what details to leave out in his story – it all needed to be perfect. The redhead told himself that he wouldn't be _lying_ to social services by giving them a… select version of events. He was merely doing what he needed to do to make sure that Kyle's custody wouldn't hit a snag.

But it wasn't just what he would say, but how he would say it. For each answer he would give, Horatio went through the motions of when he would pause, when he would give a sympathetic head tilt, and the like. For a brief moment, he debated tears, but… the redhead wasn't sure he could do that on command. And that might be a little too much, so he decided against it just as Kyle woke up and made his presence known.

It wasn't intentional, of course. But Horatio couldn't help but hear the sound of the boy's tired feet shuffling lazily against the floor in the hallway. Quickly hiding the file in a drawer, the redhead got up, leaving the study.

Kyle was headed towards the kitchen and, with his back turned, was unable to see Horatio. So the man spoke up. "Morning," he said tentatively.

The teenager turned around as quickly as he could in his still sleepy state. "Hey."

"You sleep okay?"

"Yeah."

The conversation lulled uncomfortably as it seemed to always do when Horatio was talking to the boy. And briefly, the redhead wondered if _that_ would ever change.

It had to, he decided. They couldn't always be this awkward around one another. Especially not when they both continued to stand there, looking at one another, waiting for the other to say or do something. At some point, Horatio decided, they would have to get past this. _Something _would have to change eventually, right? "Are you still up for going to social services today?" he asked finally.

Kyle shrugged. "Yeah… I guess."

"If you don't want to, that's fine," Horatio tried to reassure. "But I think the longer we put this off –"

"Then lets do it today," the teenager interrupted, nodding his head in agreement. "Just tell me what to say, and I'll say it." The words weren't meant to insult, but somehow it _did_ hurt the redhead. Because it was just another reminder that the father-son pair were as good as strangers.

"Be honest," he told Kyle. Granted the man didn't exactly plan on following his own advice, but Horatio thought it would go over far worse if his delinquent son were the one lying. "This situation isn't perfect… but it's better than jail."

"I know," the teenager said quietly.

Well at least they could agree on that, Horatio thought sadly. And he wanted to tell the teenager that they would get through this, that they would… be able to be a family and _love_ one another and help each other. There were so many things the redhead wanted to say. But he felt unable to do so, felt his mouth wield shut at the thought of uttering all the tiny reassurances he wanted to offer.

Something inside of himself refused to loosen so that he could tell the boy what he felt. And maybe, Horatio hoped, that would lessen with time, that eventually he _would_ be able to talk to his son in a way that _mattered_. But part of him feared that it would always be this way. After all, it had always been this uncomfortable with his father. If anything, the more time they had spent together, the more horrible the relationship had become. And perhaps that inability to parent had been passed onto the redhead himself.

Pushing the unwanted thought into the recesses of his mind, Horatio changed the subject. "Are you hungry?" When the blond shrugged, Horatio offered, "I don't have much, but I can make us eggs… if you want."

"Yeah, that's cool."

And so breakfast came and went, the silence between them even more prominent than it had been the night before. The passing of time seemed slow to the redhead at first, but before he knew it, they were driving to social services.

Once there, as they got out of the car, Horatio reminded Kyle, "Whatever you do, tell them the truth. Lying… will _not_ help us."

"Yeah," the blond responded as they began walking towards the white brick building.

Once again, Horatio wished he could offer his son some words of encouragement. But what should he say? How could he ease Kyle's fears when he himself was absolutely terrified that this wouldn't go well?

So, again, he decided to say nothing until they were standing in front of a receptionist's desk, asking to talk to Kyle's social worker. "Take a seat," the kind-looking woman told them. "She's in today; I'll see if we can't fit you in."

The two waited for over an hour, sitting in the most uncomfortable chairs imaginable. They were made of metal and padded just enough to give the illusion of comfort until a person actually sat in one. And as a result, Horatio and Kyle shifted around frequently, looking, the redhead thought, like two people trying to defraud the entire foster care system. Which, in a way, they were, and knowing how it _looked_ made the wait seem infinitely longer.

But there was a moment in that hour that belied the truth – at least Horatio hoped so – as well. It was in this brief flit of time that the redhead himself believed there was hope for his family. He asked Kyle if it suited him to go out to lunch after this and then shopping. "The bags you packed at your foster home were light. And I thought that… maybe buy some new things would give you a fresh start."

The almost enthusiastic nodding of the boy's head was the first sign of emotion the blond had shown since he'd moved in. And it gave Horatio some relief to see it, even if some part of him doubted it.

After all, Kyle had acted so differently in front Yelina, which was similar but not quite the same as how he'd acted during the police interrogation. And that was completely unlike how he'd acted in court or at the foster family's house or even last night. All these different personalities seemed so incongruous with one another, and the redhead had no idea which ones were real. And as much as he would like to believe that _this – _the grateful, almost cheery side – was real, Horatio couldn't know for sure. Especially since they were in front of other people who would ultimately judge their rightness for one another.

And it wasn't that the redhead couldn't appreciate that as motivation for faking it. Because Horatio himself questioned his own actions. Had he offered the items out of concern or because he thought it would look good? Deep down inside, the man conceded that it was more than likely both. But even so… a willingness to lie to stay together meant _something. _

Well, Horatio hoped so anyway.

Finally, though, Kyle's social worker did appear. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting, but I wasn't expecting you," she said in a kindly, but frank voice. "Lucky for you, though, one of my cases has been postponed. So we can definitely take care of this today, all right Kyle and…"

"Horatio Caine," the redhead offered. "I am the… biological father," he said, tripping over the words. That _hadn't_ been something he'd planned on doing. But, despite going over what he was going to say a million times, he hadn't quite understood just how powerful those words would be to hear once more. Each and every time he announced himself as Kyle's father, it made more sense, as well as less – which Horatio couldn't understand at all.

He had a son.

And part of him deep inside understood that, knew that it was right. But the rest of him found the whole thing to be painfully awkward and nonsensical, like a peanut butter and jelly omelet. Or something just as disgusting and bizarre.

"Excellent," the woman said, seemingly ignoring the slip of his tongue. "I'm Clarissa Bennett, and I've handled your son's case for almost five years now."

"Yes," he said, nodding his head. "I recognize your name from the files I've read."

Again she said, "Excellent. Well… I have another case at one pm, so we'll need to keep this short – but then again, I don't see any reason at the moment why you two shouldn't remain a family. So I'll interview the two of you separately, and then we'll see where we are, all right?"

Both Kyle and Horatio nodded their heads.

"Good. Mr. Caine, how about we start with you?"

And though he nodded his head agreeably, Horatio couldn't help but feel as though he were about to face the firing squad.

_End (39/??)_


	40. Chapter 39: Who wants an ulcer?

Author's Note: Thanks to Shining Zephyr for the review. For the record, this is and still will be a Horatio and Yelina story. Poor Rick just hasn't realized that yet, hehe. Anyway, thanks again to my beta, Olly, for her help.

As always, please read and review.

_Disclaimer: The show is not mine, so don't sue me. _

**No Other One  
****Chapter Thirty-Nine: Who Wants an Ulcer?  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_Stress: The confusion created when one's mind overrides the body's basic desire to choke the living daylights out of some jerk who desperately deserves it." – Timothy P. Brigham_

"Take a seat," Clarissa, the social worker instructed Horatio. Her office was small, making the redhead feel claustrophobic. But there was no avoiding this interview, so he did as she said. As she made her way around her large oak desk, which seemed to take up an exorbitant amount of room in the small area, she told him, "You know over the years… I've heard a lot about you. In the news, mainly, but every now and then, one of your cases falls into my purview."

She took her seat and smiled kindly at him, but Horatio couldn't have felt less welcome. There was no audible accusation in her tone, but he thought it was there nonetheless. Because, frankly, whatever had been said about the redhead in the news had rarely been good.

It had started with his brother's murder – well, when they'd _thought_ he'd died anyway. And the questions raised by that event had stuck somehow to Horatio long after Ray had been buried. Every time a drug dealer went free or didn't get the penalty the public wanted… it was blamed on _him._ Thanks to his brother's faults, _Horatio_ had practically become a villain in the public eye, sometimes disappearing from the news but never forgotten long enough.

No, he thought. That couldn't be a good way to start this interview…

"Anyway," she said, waving the thought off. "I suppose my first question is how you received Kyle's foster records. Those files are not accessible to the public for obvious reasons."

Once again, it felt as though the woman was pointing a finger at him. Making it worse was the fact that he hadn't expected her to ask about the file. Of course, Horatio hadn't planned on bringing that up to begin with. But it just seemed… like the deck was stacked against him. Who would have thought that such an innocuous detail would result in being questioned about it?

The knot in his stomach tightened cruelly; though he did have legal cause to request the information, the redhead had used his sister-in-law to get it. And he had no idea what Yelina had done to get the file, but he doubted whatever she'd done would be appreciated here. So Horatio told Clarissa the social worker a limited version of the truth.

"Well, ma'am… I'm the lieutenant for MDPD. And I was investigating a kidnapping, which we suspected Kyle of participating in, as I'm sure you're now aware," he said. When she nodded her head in agreement, Horatio continued, "I requested the file –"

"Not officially," Clarissa immediately retorted. "Or else I would have been CC'ed on the request, Lieutenant."

"You are… correct," Horatio conceded. "Normally I would use the proper channels for such a request. When my department is swamped, however, I have relied on private investigators to get the information I need."

Clarissa folded her arms across her chest. "Well, there should still be some paperwork around here, if you did that," she said snottily.

The redhead could feel himself frown. "Ma'am… I honestly don't know what happened. Maybe the paperwork got lost or hasn't been filed yet. I trust that the investigator I used employed legal methods of obtaining Kyle's folder." He was tempted to leave it at that, but Horatio knew it would seem like he was blaming her department. Which, admittedly he _was_, but it probably wasn't smart to end the moment there. So he reassured her, "But I can understand that these sorts of errors can be problematic, so I will no longer hire this particular P.I. And I will look into the matter."

In all honesty, Horatio couldn't care less about how Yelina had gotten the papers. She'd done her job, and that was what mattered to him in the end. But he didn't think he was lying when he said that he wouldn't hire her again; she was still too mad to do anything for him and probably would remain that way for a _long_ time.

"I hope you do, Lieutenant" was her rather cool reply. The smile that had been on her face had nearly disappeared now, and Horatio knew he needed to move beyond this point.

"I can… appreciate if you are upset. But… I think it's important to remember that Kyle's probation hinges on living with me. So while –"

"I see that," Clarissa said, disdain creeping into her voice. "I suppose it's lucky for you, Mr. Caine, that you've tied my hands and that this is a mere formality." Her chubby fingers felt around the desk before snatching up a cheap pen. As she flipped through a crinkled steno pad in front of her, the slightly overweight woman explained, "I suppose what I need to figure out now is if it's worth _my_ time to challenge the plea bargain and request Kyle Harmon be placed in a new foster family."

Horatio cocked his head to the side. "And here I thought the motto of DCF was to bring families together."

For a brief moment, Clarissa smiled sympathetically, despite his sarcastic remark. It was almost… odd, her response to the comment. But then again, Horatio thought she probably dealt with that attitude regularly.

"I know you probably thought that this would be over in ten minutes," she told him. But it's my job to make sure that your son is…. Well, first of all, that he _is_ your son." Horatio narrowed his eyes on her, but she ignored the look. "And then I'd like to know that Kyle isn't going home with someone who will mistreat him."

"I wouldn't do that," Horatio responded immediately. "I _won't_." He fixed his blue eyes on her brown ones and implored her to believe him. "But you won't be satisfied until you've… gone on a full fishing expedition. So by all means…" His voice got lower, the words filled with gravel. But the redhead maintained his confidence as he said, "Feel free to look around."

He was tempting fate, he supposed. The truth was Horatio did _not_ want anyone to look into his life. That was something he found himself increasingly unable to do. But the lieutenant understood all too well that it was important to appear unshaken by accusations. When a person was rattled and let it show, it was that sort of behavior that sunk a suspect in an interrogation. So he refused to do anything that would make her believe he was guilty.

Silence impeded the conversation but only for a moment so the social worker could rake her eyes over him. She was looking for a sign of weakness – a twitch or some other form of tell. But Horatio _knew_ that when it came to interrogations, _no one_ could outdo him.

And finally, perhaps satisfied by his air of innocence, Clarissa said, "I don't believe that's necessary. I _would_ like to talk to you, Kyle, maybe another family member to get a feel for how you plan on moving forward and parenting. Of course, I'd also like your DNA to be –"

"The DNA has been tested twice."

"Yes, but –"

"I understand," he said almost sympathetically, "that you doubt the integrity of the tests. But it _was_ submitted into a court of law."

"Yes, I see that," Clarissa answered, sorting through the enormous stack of papers and pulling out a file.

"Then I don't see why… you would want to spend your limited budget on another test." His voice was beginning to sound as frustrated as he felt, and Horatio carefully reined himself back in. Losing his temper would _not_ help matters.

She seemed to ponder the thought for a moment before saying, "All right… I think we can… _possibly_ forgo that."

Horatio didn't answer, didn't say anything at all. He knew it would not help his cause to show any signs that he recognized his triumph. They'd already gotten off to a poor start. And what could have been a half hour interview was now going to extend way beyond what Horatio had envisioned – that much seemed obvious.

What he needed now was her approval and to try to make her forget that the last ten minutes had ever happened. So he sat quietly and waited.

"When did you learn Kyle was your son?"

For the redhead, that life-altering moment felt… almost ancient. Despite the fact that they hadn't settled in as father and son yet, Horatio still thought it seemed like the time before Kyle had long since passed. But in actuality, as he counted the dates in his head, "It was… about three days ago."

Clarissa took some notes. "And that's been enough time for you to consider all of the ramifications of your decision to take on the role of father?" She looked at him almost… disbelievingly.

"He's my son," Horatio explained simply. "It's my _duty._"

"Do you like _fulfilling duties_, Lieutenant?" she retorted coolly, leaning forward so that her forearms rested on her desk. "What happens when the varnish wears off?"

It was something the redhead hadn't thought about much; he was _still_ trying to find his way in this new job. And though things hadn't gotten perfectly, Horatio still had hope that, as a family, they could get through it. What would happen if something went wrong… he hadn't put too much thought into that.

But then… Horatio thought about the job he _had_ had for the last couple decades. With all the crime – including the loss of his brother and wife – he understood all too well what it felt like to have that silver lining and the heavy promise of hope slip through his fingertips. The potent idea that he could change the world had long since expired, and that had been a horrible thing to lose.

He'd _wanted_ to quit, especially after Raymond had died. Well, truthfully, after his brother's murder (the _first_ time, anyway), Horatio had thought that nothing would be right ever again. He'd believed that Yelina would never look at him the same way again – with trusting eyes, with the belief that he could help her with anything. Because… Horatio had thought, and maybe still did, that he should have saved his little brother. That he should have intervened and pulled Ray from his assignment and _made it better._

But he hadn't been able to do that, and his brother _had_ died. And Yelina _had_ changed. Yet, they'd all made it through that. Horatio had wanted to run away, had wanted to quit, but instead… he'd kept going.

And this time would be no different.

"Ms. Bennett," he started to say, searching for the words he wanted. "In my line of work, and… I'd imagine in yours as well, there are… people who take the job, because they believe they can change the world… that they _alone_ can end crime or make things perfect." His eyes trained on hers and looked for a sign that she understood. Satisfied, Horatio continued. "I have… _never_ believed that, ma'am," he said with conviction. "I know that for each criminal I catch, ten more will get away with it.

"By anyone's standards, including my own, I have failed." He hesitated then, not sure if he should keep talking. He was creeping up on things he never wanted to discuss with… anyone, really. But at the same time, the redhead realized that now was _not_ the time to hold back. And if he kept quiet, and Kyle ended up being taken from him, Horatio would never forgive himself. So he kept going. "I've seen my mother, brother, and wife die because of the violence that exists. I've seen my mentor be blown to pieces and my partner bleed to death because of it," he told her darkly. "I know… that at the end of the day…" His voice trailed off, and his fingers searched inside of his pocket for the pair of sunglasses he always kept with him. "I won't have succeeded in protecting everyone," Horatio finished.

"But I do know that… it's my duty to try," he said.

"I see" was her terse response, but in her large and slightly widened eyes, he could tell that perhaps Clarissa _was_ seeing him for the first time.

So Horatio pressed on. "I don't… romanticize it. And I have yet to do that with Kyle. I am his father," the redhead said matter of factly. "I… quite honestly don't expect us to… have the kind of close relationship other fathers and sons have. I understand, Ms. Bennett, that _this_ will… not be easy. For him or myself," he added for good measure. Shifting around in his chair some, Horatio said, "But, that said, I am _not_ doing this… _simply_ out of obligation.

"I think I can do some good here – help him. And I… know that won't be easy or conventional. But it _is_ my job as his father to try."

"And if you fail?" she asked curiously.

He shrugged. "Then… I try again." Which wouldn't be easy, Horatio realized.

Failure was something he'd always taken to heart. And screwing up with Kyle?

_That_ would make every other disappointment seem pale by comparison. Getting over _that_ would probably be impossible. No, he countered, it definitely would be, because parts of him were already lingering on, clinging onto, the sixteen _years_ worth of failures. And Horatio understood then that a defeat here – Kyle being hurt or hating him or going to jail – had to be avoided at all costs.

The redhead wasn't sure if that was… fatherly love talking or something else. But he _knew_ he would never recover from losing Kyle.

Determination rallied forth within him, and Horatio opened his mouth to say more. But it was unnecessary.

"Good," Clarissa said. "That's what I needed to hear." She smiled and stood, giving Horatio some momentary relief. "I think I'm ready to talk to Kyle now."

He also stood, following her back out into the main area where the blond teenager was waiting anxiously.

And knowing that his son was about to talk to this woman, Horatio felt his stomach tying itself into knots once more. His heart seemed to be pounding against some sort of vice. The redhead didn't think it were possible for one single interview to cause so much chaos in his own body.

When the social worker turned to him once more and said, "Don't forget – I need to speak with another family member, Mr. Caine," Horatio knew:

This day was going to give him an ulcer.

* * *

If she'd been unable to remember why they'd broken up before… _now_ she knew.

Even when Stetler tried to be agreeable, Yelina found him irritating. They'd only been following her mark for about an hour, never leaving the car. But what could have been merely a boring job had turned into an adventure in keeping a 44-year-old _baby_ happy.

At the moment, they were watching her boss's wife run errands. Or at least Yelina was; Rick was too busy alternately demonstrating how miserable he was and how much he wanted to have sex with her.

In this particular instance, the dark-haired man was managing to do both at the same time. His left hand rested nonchalantly on her upper thigh, which made Yelina feel incredibly grateful for the invention of pants. And more importantly, she was pleased with her own seemingly wise decision to wear them today. Because there was no telling what Rick would have tried had she worn a skirt. His right hand holding up his head, he sighed in boredom.

"Well I say you give up and go home," he suggested.

"Why?"

"She's not doing anything," Rick practically whined, shifting in his seat.

"I'm being paid to watch her for the day. I can't _give up_. Besides, she _could_ do something," Yelina told him even if she didn't really believe it herself.

"We've been sitting here for an hour – nothing's happened. Nothing's gonna."

"You don't know that," she said snottily. Turning to look at him, Yelina added, "And if you're so bored, you can leave. I didn't make you come." She folded her arms across her chest, remembering his original purpose for joining her. "And didn't you only come along so we could _talk_?"

"Yeah, but –"

She gestured at him with one of her hands. "So talk… since we're not doing much."

"What's there to say?" he asked with a shrug. "You want me. I want you. Case closed."

Yelina shook her head. The truth was she really didn't want him anymore. Her words and actions yesterday had been honest enough but born out of a need to lash out; the brunette had needed to do something her brother-in-law would disapprove of and despise. She'd needed it to be clear, if only to herself, that Horatio would _not_ rule her world any longer.

And she'd done that well enough. But… now there was no sense in keeping herself in a bad situation. "I think there's plenty to –"

"Wouldn't you rather do something fun?" Rick asked huskily, his hand snaking up her thigh ever so slightly.

"So when you said you wanted to _talk_," she snapped, "what you meant was you wanted to have sex with me." It wasn't surprising, but the boldness of it – and the "yeah" radiating from his arrogant face – angered her. "Stop groping me," Yelina ordered.

He scowled. "I'm not doing anything wrong. And if I wanted to grope you," he argued back. "I would do _this_." His hand made a beeline for her crotch, the fingertips ready to grab her fiercely.

Realizing his intentions, Yelina slapped the offending hand away quickly. And for a brief instance, she worried what Stetler might do in return. A fraction of a second passed with the brunette practically holding her breath. She waited, her entire body tense, for his own smack to hit her, waited to hear the crack of skin or knuckles against her body.

But it never came.

Instead he half-smiled. "I'm just messing with you, Ellie."

She hated him _so much _sometimes. "Very funny," she nearly growled.

Rick, however, ignored the dark tone of her voice. "See – this is why we don't talk. We're better at the _other_ stuff," he said, leering at her. "Why should we waste our time and energy here, chatting about things we're just gonna look for a way to get into a fight over?"

Yelina looked away from him then; he'd pushed the truth right in front of her face, and she couldn't bear to have him see her as she thought about it.

They really weren't good at talking, sharing things with one another. And it wasn't just today; this was how they'd always been. Thinking about it now, she could see that their relationship in the past had been little more than large fights and trying to avoid them. In the brief time they'd dated, it seemed as though they had always been going on vacation – trying to escape and de-stress.

There was never any period of time where she was comfortable enough with Stetler to just... _relax_.

And for the first time, she understood exactly what it was about Rick that made her hate the relationship so much. A slap every now and then, she could handle. _Had_ handled. The occasional argument was perfectly all right.

But the constant… _inability_ to co-exist was something she'd never wanted.

Seeing it now for what it was, Yelina knew that she never _ever_ wanted to get back together with Stetler again. Because, while it didn't make him a bad person, he was fundamentally incompatible with her, and the brunette didn't want to spend the rest of her life walking on egg shells; the sex might have been good, but it wasn't worth _that_.

"Rick," she started to say, ready to let him down as easily as she could. But before she could add anymore, her cell phone rang. "Give me a minute," she told him, as she rummaged through her purse next to her. Of course, the bag was about as disorganized as the day had made her. And it took Yelina more time than usual to find the source of the ringing.

Snatching the phone out of her purse, the brunette didn't bother to look at the caller ID before answering it. "Hello?"

There was a brief pause before "It's Horatio" was uttered in a tentative voice.

Yelina bit down on her lip hard and briefly considered slapping her tiny phone shut and ignoring him. Her brother-in-law didn't deserve the courtesy of saying goodbye.

But before she had time to decide, Horatio pleaded with her, "Please don't hang up."

"What do you want?" she asked tiredly. It was rude – she realized as much – to say it. And more than anything, Yelina had wanted it to come across angry; she really wanted to scare him off. But the words hadn't been said in anger. The fury she'd wanted her tone to convey had been non-existent.

She simply sounded exhausted – and when it came to Horatio's problems, the brunette _was_ completely worn out.

"I know you probably want some time to sort things out," he started to say.

Dryly Yelina told him, "Yes. That _would_ be nice."

But if the sarcasm affected him, he didn't hint at it with his voice. "Yelina, I'm at social services with Kyle. And…" There was a beat, a small chink in his armor. "They won't release him into my custody until they've interviewed a relative."

"You have other –"

"No, I don't," he said firmly.

"The Delkos," Yelina suggested in a harsh tone.

"_That_ is different."

"We're both in-laws," she stated simply. True, the brunette was ignoring the fact that, even in her own mind, Horatio's marriage had been little more than a sham. Of course, she could keep – and _had_ kept that opinion to herself. And part of her could understand the redhead's reasons for marrying a dying girl. But that didn't make the relationship between the two true love… just as her time with Stetler hadn't ever approached that either.

At that moment, the man sitting next to her seemed to realize who was on the phone. And though she ignored him, Yelina could feel his anger begin to smolder.

"It's different," Horatio argued as gently as he could. "You are the mother of my nephew – I've known you for almost twenty years. It is… _not_ the same thing."

There was no denying the truth in his words; they strongly pulled on her heart, letting her know that she really did _have_ to do this. But her mind stubbornly refused to capitulate.

"I haven't earned it," said the voice warily over the phone. "I am… sorry, _so sorry_, Yelina. For hurting you and for needing you to do this." Genuine sorrow seemed to lace each and every tone he made. But the plea quickly changed into something rougher. "But whether you like it or not, Kyle is family. And if you don't do this, he _will_ go to jail."

His words crashed down on her shoulders, the weight of them exhausting her. She didn't _want_ to help him, even though Yelina _knew_ it to be right.

It was what she had to do, but hearing him place all the responsibility on her… she wanted to punch him. Because the way things were now was _his_ fault, not hers, and yet here he was, making sure that she knew _exactly_ what was at stake. Horatio was essentially shifting blame onto _her_, and he was so good at it. Obviously, Yelina thought, he'd improved his technique since he'd told her that Madison Keaton existed.

"You there?" came across the phone.

Her answer was immediate, filled with the anger she was feeling. "Go to hell."

She slapped her phone shut quickly, not bothering to listen to what he might say. And for good measure, the brunette turned the cell off, so that Horatio couldn't call her back. There was nothing he could say – nothing that she wanted to hear – that would make this situation any easier.

"You did the right thing, Yelina," Rick said softly, interrupting her thoughts.

But if he'd meant to soothe, the attempt had failed. Because with those simple words, Yelina's frustration boiled over. And she was no longer interested in making peace with _anyone._

"No. I _haven't_," she snapped. Knowing that she didn't really have a choice, the brunette put her car in drive.

"Wait, where are we going?"

"I'm taking you back to your car," Yelina explained irritably. "And then I'm meeting Horatio –"

"Oh I see," he said grumpily. "_I _want you to pack it up and take a break from work, and that's not okay. But precious _Horatio_ calls you, and _you_ go running like a little bitch to its master."

She nearly growled at him. "That's lovely, Rick. Calling me a bitch _and_ a dog at the same time – it_ really _makes me want to go have sex with you now."

"Well –"

"Be careful what you say," she warned. "I _do_ bite."

"All right, I'm sorry," Stetler offered – though his apology was laced with irritation… as though she was hassling him. "I just don't think this is a wise idea. And if we're gonna get back together –"

"We're not getting back together," Yelina told him hastily.

There was a moment of silence, a brief period of time where, as she turned a corner, Rick was clearly processing what she'd just said.

"What?" he asked, his throat sounding constricted.

"We… I…" Yelina shut her mouth, trying to find the right words. It was almost amusing how she could know something to be true but still unable to _say_ it.

When they stopped at a traffic light seconds later, she turned to him. "I care about you, like you. But… you and I are _not_ good together. As a couple. And a relationship with you would be nice to have right now… but in the end…" She smiled sadly. "I'm not that self-destructive."

She watched Rick process her words, her own attention vacillating between his face and the stoplight.

But whatever reaction she was expecting, _this_ wasn't it. He nodded his head sadly for a moment and then said, "Okay."

"'Okay'?" He shrugged. "What does that mean exactly?" she asked warily.

"It means go ahead, do what you want. Obviously Horatio has given you some hope for a relationship. So you feel free to explore that," Rick told her condescendingly. "_But _at some point, he'll betray you, and you'll realize that what I can give you is something he'll _never_ give you."

As they pulled up to her house, where his car was, he continued. "And you'll know just how bad we are together sometimes. But you'll come crawling back to me anyway."

"I don't think so."

"Yes, you will," he said, nodding his head. "Because you really _are_ that self-destructive."

"You're wrong." Yelina put the car in neutral. "Now, get out."

Luckily, Rick did so without creating a fuss. And as he slammed his car door shut, the brunette couldn't help but feel the burn in her throat. Swallowing hard, Yelina drove off as soon as Stetler had left her driveway. Watching him leave, she couldn't help but think:

This day was going to give her an ulcer and, if Rick and Horatio didn't leave her alone, quite possibly a murder charge.

* * *

Kyle would have been lying if he said he liked his caseworker. He didn't like her, never had, never would. And while he'd never expected to have a father in his life, the teenager thought that not dealing with this woman would and should have been one of the perks.

But here he was, sitting across from the dumb lady who never really quite knew how to do her job. It wasn't that Ms. Bennett didn't try. Even Kyle could see that she did. But… she just wasn't any good at it. The woman had only been his caseworker for… like, a year, but in that time, he'd seen more than enough of her to understand how she was.

She didn't pretend to care about anyone. There hadn't been any song and dance to earn his trust… which ironically made Kyle dislike her more. Because, in the end, Ms. Bennett wanted him to talk to her and explain what things were like. And she hadn't even _tried_ to show how trustworthy she could be. No song _or_ dance had been allotted for him – just a bucket of arrogance and talk of the rulebook and how "things were done."

He _really_ wanted this to be over with, he thought suddenly.

"So Kyle. How are you handling the changes in your life?" she asked.

_Well, freak_, he wanted to say, _it sucks. My mother is dead; I'm in a new home again, and my father is out there apologizing to people because I'm alive._

But a smart response, he _knew_, wouldn't fly. Because _that_ always made her launch into the whole "I know you don't trust me" speech filled with purple prose and Hallmark greetings. So Kyle said, "Okay."

"Do you want to elaborate for me?"

"Not really."

"Please?" she asked kindly.

So he offered, irritated by the woman, "It's weird – how could it be anything but?"

She looked at him intently, obviously assessing what he wanted her to do. Because the dumb woman certainly had no idea what the teenager wanted instinctively; it all had to be laid out neatly for her. "Does that mean you'd rather I –"

Screw it, Kyle decided.

Sitting up straight in his chair, the blond told her, "Let me spell it out for you: I don't want to go to prison." He waved a hand in the air. "Just sign your little slip of paper that says you're okay with it and stay the hell out of my life."

He knew he should be quiet, act as he had with Horatio. But he'd reached his fuse. There was no way she was going to turn them down, and Kyle wanted this to be over with.

Deep down inside, the teenager understood that he could probably play into this more if he wanted to. If he needed to. After all, this was probably the most he'd said since being released from police custody. But with Horatio, the situation was different. Kyle didn't know what to say with the man; he didn't know what conversations were appropriate.

_This_, on the other hand, he got.

Clarissa Bennett's job might have been "social worker," but that was just a title. What it came down to was that she was nothing more than another form of authority who seemed intent on fucking him over. Which meant Kyle was going to be as forceful as he could with the woman – even if she hated him for it.

"Well, we'll see," she said testily.

"_No_. My options are jail or living with him. And even if he decided to beat or diddle me every day, it would _still_ be better than prison. _And_ it would still be better than the people you trust to be foster parents. Sign the fucking papers."

It was obvious Ms. Bennett didn't want to give into a sixteen year old. But it was easy to tell his tone was working. The woman rubbed absent-mindedly at her neck and upper chest.

He was giving her an ulcer, and right now, that was perfectly acceptable to Kyle.

_End (40/??)_


	41. Chapter 40: Misery all Around

Author's Notes: First and foremost, thank you so much to my beta, Olly, for always giving me the encouragement to continue this fic and for supporting me in every other area of my life. I could not have done any of this without you.

Thanks to **tammy** for the review. I really do hope you keep reading. Also thanks to **kira66**. NOO really will be H/Y in the future. Right now, there are some big trust issues and problems, but I think the one thing Horatio and Yelina have in common is an uncommon ability to forgive and help. There will definitely be some more drama, but I hope for some incredibly sweet moments as well. Thanks for reading. Another thanks goes to **OkieBeth05**. Yelina may need to get over herself, but she's not reacting in this way to solely upset Horatio. On some level, I'm sure she does understand how difficult it is for him. But right now, she's more focused on the pain she (and her son too) has suffered through because of this secret. So we'll see where everything ends up.

As always, please read and review.

_Disclaimer: I don't own the series._

**No Other One  
****Chapter Forty: Misery all Around  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_You must constantly ask yourself these questions: Who am I around? What are they doing to me… What do they have me thinking? And most important, what do they have me becoming?" – Jim Rohn_

Apparently annoying a social worker only resulted in _her_ being more irritating as well (which up until this point, Kyle thought impossible). In the back of his mind, the teenager was sure he'd known that and should have remembered the tidbit. Somehow, though, in his effort to forget all of the time wasted in this building, he'd chased that fact out of his memory as well.

He'd made a mistake, because at that very moment, Bennett spoke up. "Kyle…" There was some forced hesitation on her part, and lazily the teenager waited for her to say more. "Would you please explain to me how you got those bruises on your face?"

Great.

He was sure he frowned then; after all, he'd hoped to avoid that question all together. But here he was, expected to give an answer to a woman he didn't trust. And part of him understood that he _would_ have to say something. Denying the whole thing would only make it look suspicious. So… despite wanting to tell her to shove it, Kyle found himself offering an explanation anyway. "I was in _jail_, remember?" he said snottily.

Horatio had said not to lie, but the blond had _no_ intention of telling the truth.

Then again… this wasn't _really_ a lie. A half-truth at best, but certainly it wasn't an outright _lie_, because he _had_ been hit in the general vicinity of the prison. And that was really all that mattered in social work – getting close to the real answer but always staying just far enough away to emphasize how crappy the reality was.

"You mean another prisoner hit you?" she asked, rather stupidly Kyle thought.

He dramatically rolled his eyes for her benefit; the gesture wasn't something Kyle did naturally – at least he couldn't remember doing it on a regular basis. But right now, it was a perfect way to show Ms. Bennett just how irritated he was becoming. "Those are some _awesome_ deductive skills you have there."

"Kyle, there's no reason to be –"

"You're right," he said quickly.

It was as close to an apology as Kyle was ever gonna get in this situation. Frankly, he wasn't inclined to be cooperative at all with anyone from social services. But knowing that his caseworker had all the power that mattered right now, the teen understood he needed to… behave. And wanting to show that he was open to her questions (despite not really feeling it), Kyle asked her, "What else do you want to know?"

Looking at her then, he could tell: he'd given in just an inch, but she was going to steal the whole damn yard.

* * *

The closer Yelina got to Horatio, the angrier she felt, as though her body could instinctively tell just how near he was. Her heart hung heavily in her chest, pounding viciously enough so she could feel each beat in her ears. And a single glance in the rearview mirror revealed the slight reddening of her nose, which only happened when she was furious.

Right about now, honestly, "furious" seemed like an apt word to describe her mood, she thought. Horatio, Stetler… both had whittled her patience down to nothing. And part of her thought it was almost amusing that the two men could be so contemptuous of one another but so… similar in their ability to make her angry.

Yelina tried to laugh at the thought. Because if she could find something funny in this train-wreck situation, then there was _some_ hope; things wouldn't feel so bleak, and maybe she'd be able to move forward through the day with her head held high.

But the frown on the brunette's face stayed exactly where it was. Stubborn like the rest of her, her lips refused to move a millimeter – the expression the same as when she'd left Rick.

No laugh escaped, despite her wanting it to – despite knowing that she pretty much _needed_ humor at the moment. No sound came out at all until she was standing in front of her brother-in-law, wearing a black and white suit and similar expression on his face.

He looked so somber standing there in the lobby, his eyes, of course, masked by his dark sunglasses. When Yelina had first met Horatio, she'd found his penchant for the accessory to be… curious at best. Well… in all honesty, the brunette hadn't liked it. Growing up, she'd learned that looking people in the eye was part of being polite; and if there was one aspect to Colombian culture that she had taken with her, for better or worse, it had been the notion of respect. _Naturally_ there were times when Yelina… _hadn't_ displayed that ideal, but to her younger mind, Horatio's love for sunglasses had left her unimpressed.

But the brunette had quickly learned that the man before her was nothing if not respectful. And while there had always been the silly rumor that there was something wrong with his eyes, Yelina had eventually decided the reason was something other than a bizarre sensitivity to light.

Horatio had always been afraid to show who he really was to someone else. To her. She'd believed it then, had known it to be true every single time he spoke softly and shifted on his feet around her. He was absolutely _terrified_ of letting someone into his life.

But in the end, it didn't matter. All his attempts at avoid being seen had failed. Because right now, sunglasses or no, sadness practically wafted in the air around her brother-in-law. And Yelina could _see_ just how miserable he was, how… _defeated_ he seemed.

Seeing that – if only for a moment – made her want to completely forgive him. The brief window of time made her dark eyes burn in hues of green, the light forgiveness offered almost overwhelming. She wanted, in those seconds, nothing to do with the sorrow embedded in every line and pore of his face.

All this time, Yelina had felt as though he _alone_ was the one rubbing the wound raw. Now, however, she could see all too clearly that she'd done the exact same thing to her brother-in-law. Her eyes raking over him once more, she was absolutely sure that he had equally experienced the emotions she'd felt over the past day. They had, simply by being themselves, made a painful situation unbearable, she realized.

It made her blood run cold, knowing that.

Because it seemed like _once again_, she was in that horrible pattern every relationship she'd had had followed. Her husband, Rick, and now Horatio – they'd all promised to protect her and love her... And yes, she'd done the same to them. But in the end, it didn't matter, because they hurt each other anyway. They'd caused each other more pain than she thought possible.

And at that moment, whatever desire she had to reach out to Horatio dried up. The words of apology and forgiveness died on her tongue, and all she could utter quietly was his name.

"I, uh… didn't think you were going to come," the redhead told her, his voice a mixture of surprise and hesitation.

"I –"

But before she could say anything else, a woman who appeared to be the social worker and the teenager who had started this entire debacle interrupted them. Almost instantly, Horatio began to talk to the unfamiliar face; he'd always hated awkward silences, Yelina knew. It made him feel… out of control, she supposed, and right now, she was absolutely sure he felt that way.

Though she vaguely heard her brother-in-law introduce her, Yelina was too focused on Kyle Harmon to pay much attention. The small chat Horatio was probably making fell into the background, as she took in the appearance of the teenager in front of her.

It had been a few days since she'd, well, _met_ him, but… he seemed to have _changed_ in that short period of time. Or maybe this was just who he was – Yelina didn't know.

Either way, it felt as though everything about the teenager had changed. Gone was Kyle's near porcelain skin; the pale flesh was now stained with a dark bruise. The arrogance that had shown through his almost black eyes had all but disappeared. Standing before her, he looked shy and unsure. It was a quiet that seemed to be present on every inch of his body, save for the slight shifting of his feet.

And it hit Yelina then that maybe her gaze was making him uncomfortable. Well, at least that was one thing Kyle had in common with… his father. Smirking slightly, she looked away, giving him a reprieve.

"Well," the social worker said, interrupting her thoughts. "Ms. Salas, why don't you come with me, so that we can talk a little?" Yelina nodded her head and followed the woman into her office.

Frankly Yelina was glad they would be doing this privately. Being honest about this situation would be difficult enough – she knew that much. And the idea of… talking about Horatio in front of him seemed unbearable, because, at this point, she wasn't sure she wanted him to hear what she would say. But the brunette quickly pushed the thought aside, knowing that it wouldn't help her now.

When both women had taken their seats, the social worker began talking once more. "Thank you for coming on such short notice. I'm glad you could accommodate our needs, and hopefully this won't take long." Yelina nodded her head but said nothing, and so the woman continued. "I can only imagine how… difficult this time must be for your family."

"We'll get through it," Yelina said almost immediately. Her voice was filled with a confidence that she had only felt when talking to her son about this mess of a situation. And… yes, in her heart, the brunette knew that she _did_ believe that they would get through this.

They had survived Ray's murder and subsequent rebirth. They made it through her father's death, her son's kidnapping, and Raymond's _actual_ death. And they'd even managed to surpass the anger and betrayal caused by Madison's existence.

Though it hadn't been _that_ long since she first became a member of this family, Yelina had been through a lot in that time. So had her son, and it was absolutely sickening to believe that they could survive all of that and not _this_.

They would get through this, and Kyle Harmon would just be one more obstacle.

There was just no other way.

"You have a son," the social worker across from her led.

"Yes, I do." The smile that spread across Yelina's face was anything but forced.

"How is he handling the news?"

Yelina's answer was careful. "He's upset, as any child would be."

"I see," the social worker said, as she made a quick notation in her notebook.

The conversation lulled, which made Yelina feel ill at ease. Perhaps she should say more? Yes, she decided. It was probably best to continue on and not leave the woman with the mental image of her baby upset by this situation. Or maybe _Yelina_ didn't want to contemplate _that_ anymore herself. "Already, though, I can see his anger giving way to curiosity – about Horatio and Kyle."

The woman across from her smiled, obviously pleased by the news. "Well, that's good," she said, though Yelina knew that the reality was a bit more complicated.

Ray Junior had always been a curious child, even when he'd first been born and with outstretched pink fingers tried to grab a hold of her. And from that moment on, Yelina felt as though she was constantly running after him, keeping him out of trouble. He was inquisitive to a fault, and there were too many instances to count where he got into trouble because of it.

Sitting in the social worker's office now, she couldn't help but wonder what the results of his curiosity would be this time. But if she was worried, she refused to let it show.

"Yelina," the woman said suddenly. "Do you think that you'll be able to answer my questions disinterestedly?"

Yelina tucked a dark curl behind her ear. "Of course," she replied.

But this didn't seem to satisfy the social worker, Yelina thought. The stranger shifted in her seat before saying, "Hmm… you know, usually when people answer that quickly to a question like that… well, I tend to think they're lying."

Yelina did _not_ appreciate the implication, but she kept the anger out of her voice. "Right now, I am…" she laughed softly, uncomfortably. "_Not_ happy with my brother-in-law. A small part of me would very much like to say things that would _discourage_ you from placing Kyle with his father."

"Really," the social worker said, her tone eager, the way a person sounded when they'd just heard a piece of juicy gossip.

"But as a mother," Yelina told the other woman, and this time, the anger in her voice rounded out each syllable. "I would hate to think that a person could say anything they wanted to, and that would be enough for social services. I would like to think that families have more protection than that."

She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. Letting her anger show wouldn't help. And more than anything, Yelina knew that this wasn't social services' fault; they had intervened years ago because of Julia Alvarez and her untimely death. The department had stepped in, because, _Horatio_ had not.

The thought made her question whether or not she was doing the right thing. But she stubbornly pressed onward. More reluctantly, Yelina admitted, "And… if I were to lie, it would be because I am angry with Horatio. But I'm mad at him for _lying _to me, and I can't rationalize doing the exact same thing to make him suffer."

Yelina couldn't resist the temptation to look away.

It hit her then – the full force of it all.

This whole situation was just… insane. It was _too much – _first learning the truth about Kyle and then being expected to offer _insight_ into how Horatio would be as a parent. It was an impossible task for anyone, and yet here she was… going to do that, because it was the right thing to do.

And perhaps that wouldn't leave her feeling quite so empty if there was _someone_ else who not only understood how hard this was but who was willing to support her as well. Her mother and friends – and Rick too – could comprehend why she was angry and upset by Horatio's betrayal. But _none_ of them would understand her reasons for being here now and helping her brother-in-law.

Biting down on her lip hard, the brunette could now see the truth for exactly what it was; the _only_ person in her life who could understand her motivation was… Horatio. He would get it, as he always had. And yet…

She doubted if that had even given him pause when he'd called her.

He understood her in a way that nobody else seemed to, but _once again_, he'd pushed that aside for something else. For somebody else.

At that thought, the acrid taste of bitterness seemed to lodge itself in her throat. Jealousy pressed on her lungs, making it hard to breathe. And _of course_, she was jealous, Yelina admitted to herself. How could she even begin to deny it? The ugly feeling had penetrated what felt like every fiber of her being, and there was no pretending that it hadn't.

Honestly, she could accept, if not escape, the fact that Horatio had chosen Kyle over her. As much as she didn't like that reality, Yelina could understand why her brother-in-law had done it. Because in the end, she knew it to be right – that was what a parent was supposed to do. And she would have done it herself, had she been in the same situation (not that she ever _would_ be, Yelina snarled inwardly).

She could accept and understand that decision. Her jealousy was alleviated by it, by any means, but it also wasn't the cause of her envy.

Really, what it came down to was this: Horatio had chosen to sacrifice more for Kyle than for her; and that was fine in a way, except that _she'd_ known her brother-in-law longer than the boy had been _alive. _

_She_ had seen Horatio in the darkest of times, when he'd wanted to give up his career, when his mentor had been murdered… It had _not_ been Kyle, but _she_ who had tried so hard to help the redhead through those horrible moments.

But after all had been said and done, the truth was, no matter how hard she tried, he pushed her away. No amount of words or actions had broken through that thick wall Horatio had erected between himself and everyone. _Nothing_ she did warranted a deviation from what was expected of him.

For all her wanting, Yelina had failed.

But _Kyle_ had not. In only a couple of days' time, Horatio had let the boy in – had sacrificed respect, friendship, and _family_ for the teenager. Kyle had forced that part of Horatio to show itself. _Kyle_ had gotten to see that part she'd always tried to take a look at.

And it was stupid to be jealous of a teenager. But somehow… her failure being placed in front of her made that inevitable, making the desire to abandon this interview unbearable.

Horatio didn't need her for this. He certainly didn't _want_ her.

But just as Yelina's body threatened to rise, the social worker asked, "Do you think Horatio would be a good father?"

Her muscles clenching tightly together, Yelina didn't reply immediately. A war within her began, making her feel sick. How was she supposed to answer that question? Did she tell the woman what Horatio _wanted_ her to say? Or did she speak what that dangerous voice inside of her whispered seductively?

What had at the beginning been very clear to her was now all fog and haze. Yelina no longer knew what to say; she just didn't have any idea.

_End (41/??)_


	42. Chapter 41: Murky Waters

Author's Notes: Thanks to my beta, Olly, for all of her hard work and assistance. It means more to me than you know. Also thanks to OkieBeth05 for the review. I hope you keep reading.

Remember to read and review.

_Disclaimer: The show is not mine, so don't sue me. _

**No Other One  
****Chapter Forty-One: Murky Waters  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable." – Jim Davis_

Would Horatio make a good father?

Yelina almost had to smirk at the question. After all, that was precisely why she was here, why Horatio had asked her to be here. The woman across from her, she thought, really was begging the question.

Of course, there was no doubt in Yelina's mind what Horatio wanted her to say. But now, with the query put to her in such a blunt and stark manner, the brunette didn't really know how to answer.

Or maybe that was a lie. Perhaps she did know what to say. But she was so angry at the way things had turned out: Horatio lying to her and Kyle essentially getting what she'd always wanted. And that somehow made the answer impossible to find. Or at least to say.

Running her tongue along her teeth, Yelina decided that the best thing to do at the moment was to… ignore what had happened these last few days. True, she thought, it was odd, forcing herself to forget the events that had brought her here. But if she were to answer this woman even remotely honestly, the brunette understood, sadly, that she couldn't think about how Horatio had lied and how things had changed so dramatically between them.

Thinking back, she sifted through all of the years they'd known one another. Layer after layer of memory held lush detail of small smiles and the occasional conversation, and it was almost bizarre how such innocuous situations could hold so much meaning for her. And in between all of those tiny moments of happiness were the memories she had of Horatio interacting with children other than the one that was her own.

In their line of work, they had encountered children too many times for them to ever truly feel satisfied with the world as it was. But, despite the depressing nature of those memories, Yelina could distinctly recall how wonderful Horatio had been with them. The tiny victims had been abused, raped, watched their parents be murdered – but with Horatio, sometimes, their small faces lit up ever so slightly with hope and relief.

Her brother-in-law had been so good at it, always kneeling down and talking to them in quiet, gentle tones. Her eyelids fluttered shut of their own accord at the thought. At the time, Horatio had been so sweet and so paternal to those children, something Yelina (and just about everyone else) had found incredibly attractive; it had been almost intoxicating to watch him.

And yet now… the silver lining to the memory tarnished and faded.

Horatio had changed since then. Even before Kyle had come into their lives, she had felt the shift – seen it. It had been a slow change over time, but at some point, Yelina thought, the pace had quickened, effectively transforming into something else. The person she'd left to go to Rio was different than the one who stood out in the hallway now.

He was colder than that man had been, less sympathetic and understanding. They hadn't spent a lot of time together since she'd returned, but… those few holidays that they had been in one another's presence had left her cold. Because she could see that there was something cynical about his demeanor, could see how his edges had been made rougher, though his patience was well worn.

Yelina couldn't begin to name the cause. In their family, there was so much pain, the result of so many mistakes and mishaps. It was impossible to tell which one had sent him over the edge, and she was no longer allowed to be near him enough to figure it out.

But there was no denying that something in him had shifted permanently.

Something was wrong.

And nobody, it seemed, had borne the brunt of that change quite like her son.

Before, Ray Junior and Horatio had been very close. In some ways, the two were as different as any two people could be. Her brother-in-law was reserved, her son… absolutely _not_. Horatio was usually determined to follow the rules set for him, while Ray Junior had taken after his father and was, therefore, determined to push every boundary he came across.

But _unlike_ her husband, her son had always valued Horatio's opinion, had never ceased to treasure their relationship. Even before Ray had died, the two had been close; the redhead had always been more than a man shoehorned into the role of father figure.

From taking fishing trips to helping her teach Ray Junior to stay out of fights, Horatio had embraced it all. And it seemed almost ironic, she thought, how her brother-in-law, who'd always talked about the importance of family, had been the one to essentially pull away.

Not that her son really talked about it much to her, but she had caught on that the two were no longer as close. And the brunette only needed to look at how Horatio had ignored _her_ this past year to decide whose fault it was. Maybe it wasn't fair to do that, but she thought almost immediately, she couldn't see Ray Junior pushing his uncle away.

Her son had many faults, but he wasn't one to do _that_. If anything, he was almost obsessive about keeping family members close (even as he threatened to drive them insane). Ray had never really talked to her about this either, but it was pretty clear to Yelina that this was another result of his father _dying_. And so that meant… Horatio _had_ to be the one behind this.

Which made her so angry that, at that moment, she felt as though she'd been punched in the gut. And it hit her then that maybe her anger and resentment towards her brother-in-law had been growing for months now. That the feelings she was experiencing so keenly now hadn't been solely the product of his most recent betrayal, but something that had been a long time coming. Because, thinking about it now, it was one thing to be lied to about Kyle (though dishonesty filled her with rage and disgust period). But it was something else completely to see Horatio disengage himself from the rest of his family. And while she could handle not seeing him unless he wanted something, Yelina couldn't bear the thought of it happening to her _son._

Would Horatio make a good father?

Ten years ago, she would have responded immediately with an emphatic _yes_. But now, she thought ruefully…

In all honesty, if his behavior recently were to be the deciding factor, the mother would have said no. Horatio was just too standoffish these days to truly connect with _anyone_. And Yelina couldn't see how that quality would help Kyle Harmon at all.

But… part of her recognized that her answer couldn't be based on the last few years alone. Whether it had been asked of her or not, Yelina understood that she had to look at the big picture. Because, aside from the rightness of it, she hated to think how someone might judge _her_ based solely on the past several months with her own son. Regardless of how she felt about the past year, she knew it couldn't be the _only_ thing she looked at.

And yet, looking at all the years she'd known Horatio didn't exactly yield an immediate answer either. Because now, Yelina had to decide _which_ Horatio was the most real – the kind and gentle one or the one who was cold and sometimes killed without thought.

It was almost an impossible decision to make.

She'd known the nicer side to the redhead for years, but the _crueler_ side weighed heavily on her mind. Truth be told, both personalities seemed equally real and equally a lie. When he had been softer spoken, Yelina had believed that there was something more lurking underneath. She'd been convinced that, for all of his coolness, there had been a well of emotion waiting to be tapped. And now, it seemed like that had happened. The only problem was that the only feelings he seemed capable of displaying lately were resentment and anger.

But then… Yelina wasn't entirely sure that that represented all of Horatio now either.

She sighed quietly, but it was loud enough to make the brunette acutely aware that she still had an audience. Glancing at the social worker, Yelina could tell that the other woman was becoming impatient. However, she wasn't at all interested in giving a quick response. Because, while Horatio had asked her to be here, ultimately this was about making sure Kyle ended up in the best place. And if her brother-in-law were capable of doing to that boy what Horatio's own father had done to him, then…

No.

_No_, she told herself rebelliously, unable to finish the thought. Horatio turning into the man she'd only heard about through her husband just wasn't possible. Her brother-in-law could be dark, violent with criminals, but he had his limits.

Even if so much recently suggested to the contrary… Yelina couldn't picture him going that far. As much as Horatio tried to keep himself hidden, she _did_ know him. Knew the core of him anyway, and she couldn't believe that underneath everything, he was _that_ person. Thinking any differently would mean that every moment Horatio had spent with her son had been a lie.

If he really were that bad, every time she'd gone to him for help with her son… she would have been putting Ray Junior in danger. Yelina would have left her _baby_ in the care of someone who would – or could – hurt him. And for all of her weaknesses as a parent, she couldn't believe _that_ was true. No matter what had happened, she trusted him _that_ much.

So too did she trust her own recollections of Ray Junior fishing with Horatio, of her brother-in-law holding her infant son. Try as she might, Yelina couldn't _ever_ believe that all of those sweet moment had been a lie.

And if there was still some truth to be found in those memories, then…

"Yes," Yelina said suddenly, her voice startling even to her own ears. "Horatio would be a great father."

The woman across from her looked just as surprised by the answer. But more importantly, there was almost immediately a clear look of doubt in her eyes. "You hesitated," she said simply.

Yelina shook her head. "No. I didn't."

"But you –"

"You asked me if my brother-in-law would be a good father, not what time it is or what color my eyes are." Yelina sat straight up in her chair. "You asked me about _parenting_, which is something requires a little more consideration. Wouldn't you agree?"

The silence descending on them once more was proof enough that Yelina was right. And she smiled a little, knowing that she wouldn't have to justify her thoughts to this stranger.

But the conversation didn't stop there. "What in your mind would –" The social worker paused thoughtfully. "No, I have a better question for you. What makes a good father? What are your criteria?"

Raising an eyebrow, Yelina folded her arms across her chest. "You think my reasoning is faulty?" she asked.

"I'm curious" was the simple response given to her.

And so Yelina shrugged, naming the first few qualities that came to mind. "Compassion, guidance, and an unconditional tenacious need to love."

"I see." At that, the social worker began to write something down in her note pad. Looking up as she did so, she told Yelina, "I noticed that you didn't mention discipline. Do you not believe that would be important for a boy like Kyle?"

"Do _you_ not believe that protecting someone from making bad decisions is an inherent part of love?" Yelina threw back at her. She wasn't sure why, but there was something else about the social worker's attitude that bothered her. "You make it sound as though Kyle is an unruly child," she added as an afterthought.

The woman gave her a pointed look. "Well," she scoffed, throwing up her hands. "Let's be honest: your nephew is here, because he broke the law. He's no alter boy, Ms. Salas, I can assure you. I've been his caseworker for years now, and in all that time I've known him, Kyle Harmon has been little more than disrespectful and recalcitrant."

Yelina thought about her own experiences with Kyle. For sure there'd been attitude from him, and she couldn't deny seeing what made the social worker think those things. He'd been rude at times, accusatory. But the brunette was also certain that there was more to Kyle than that.

Even if she hadn't seen him today, Yelina would have been sure of it – though his current disposition seemed to confirm it. When she'd met him, the teenager had been suspicious of her, incredibly distrustful, and that could hardly make for a good, friendly conversation. Especially since he was… well, breaking the _law_ and convinced that she was a cop, she doubted if he ever thought about letting his guard down.

But even taking that into consideration… Yelina realized that those things didn't explain everything about the boy. After all, he had stepped in when that waiter had persisted in being an _ass_. Which, a long time ago, she would have considered to be a person's duty, but she'd learned quickly that not everyone else felt the same. Kyle, she realized, didn't _have_ to help her, and yet he had, despite knowing that it would probably call attention to himself.

And, if only because of that, Yelina was sure that there was more to this boy than the social worker realized. "He's sixteen years old," she countered. "Name me someone that age who _isn't_ difficult."

The woman across from her smiled, but there was no warmth in it, no kindness to be found. "I would say participating in a kidnapping goes beyond the realm of typical teenage angst."

Yelina frowned. "Of course it does. But…" She shook her head as she tried to find the right words. "But… I don't think that's all there is to him." After all, the mother mentally added, there was more to her son than the stupid things _he_ had done.

"Even though you barely know him, you think –"

"I think," Yelina interrupted, "That Kyle Harmon is a secretive child. Given what he's been through, I doubt anyone would consider that surprising." She let the words sink in before continuing. "What he _needs_ is someone he can trust, someone to guide him. Someone who can foster whatever goodness is there."

"And you're confident that that is not only possible but that Horatio Caine is the person who can make that happen."

Once again, a part of her dangerously wanted to say no. But Yelina ignored it, nodding her head and uttering an emphatic, "Yes."

She was done then; she'd said, apparently, all the social worker wanted to hear. And Yelina wasn't sure if she'd helped Horatio all that much, given her own desire to hurt him. Which made her feel sick, as she stepped out into the hallway.

The brunette had spent her whole life trying to do the right thing. And now… maybe she'd done that here, maybe not. But it scared her – she felt completely unsure about the whole conversation. Could Kyle Harmon really be helped? Was Horatio the right person to do it?

And how would this affect her son?

Returning to the lobby once more, Yelina couldn't help but think:

If she'd done the right thing, why did she feel so guilty?

_End (42/??)_


	43. Chapter 42: Why Why Not

Author's Notes: Thanks to my beta for her extra hard work in getting this chapter done for me. Also thank you to **Okiebeth05** for the review. Your thoughts are both appreciated and compelling. As for the discrepancy in the amount of time Clarissa has been Kyle's social worker – I'd say that the actual amount of time they've spent together is around 16-18 months. Why the difference then?

Kyle doesn't really care about the actual time, LOL; this caseworker is, for him, just like all the others, and he's not too interested in keeping track of how long they've been together. It just holds no meaning for him. As for Clarissa, her tendency is to inflate the year and a half they've had together. It's been rough for her, because Kyle really _doesn't_ make it a pleasurable experience. At this point, I don't know if she believes there's any goodness left in him. But she _does_ believe that he refuses to show it to anyone, and so it amounts to the same thing in the end for her. Anyway, thanks again for sharing your thoughts.

Remember everyone – reading and reviewing is love.

_Disclaimer: I don't own the show._

**No Other One****  
Chapter Forty-Two: Why/Why Not**_  
By Duckie Nicks_

"_Careful the things you say; children will listen." – Stephen Sondheim_

Horatio and Ms. Bennett had disappeared into her office once again, leaving Kyle with Yelina Salas. Well, with his _aunt_, he supposed. But the blond couldn't really think of her that way. Because… okay, _first of all_, he didn't really know the woman. And secondly, it had only been a couple days ago that the two had met, and he'd pretty much asked if she'd planned on molesting him at the time.

Was he supposed to apologize for that?

Kyle quickly shoved the question aside. He wasn't above saying he was sorry, but… for whatever reason he felt justified in accusing her of those things at the time. She'd been following _him_, he reasoned. He'd had every right to be suspicious of her, especially since she _was_ spying on him.

Even if he was wrong about his actions then, it didn't really make sense to dwell on it now. Because nothing that had happened would matter if his caseworker was telling Horatio now that this parenting thing wasn't going to pan out.

At that moment, Kyle wished he had some sort of idea of how this was going to go. If he was headed to prison, then he would have liked a head start in running from the authorities, he thought grimly. Or if they were gonna toss him back into foster care, well, the blond would like to know that was going to happen too.

Not that the teenager was really thrilled to be thrown into the Caine family or anything.

In all honesty, Kyle wasn't too sure how he should feel about Horatio. And, if Yelina was any indication, it wasn't like the rest of the family was any easier to be around.

He slowly slid his eyes over as inconspicuously as possible to look at the woman sitting next to him. Try as he might, he couldn't figure out what she was thinking – or what she might have said to Ms. Bennett; Yelina's face gave away nothing, which sucked.

Everything about her was too relaxed to tell him anything other than the fact that she seemed confident about what was going on. And that meant nothing to him, because Kyle didn't know if she wanted him gone or to stick around. Both options, he thought, seemed equally likely.

No, he corrected himself. He was pretty sure she'd want him gone from her life completely. But then, if that were true, he wondered why she'd stuck around after her interview.

So he was back where he started, no closer to knowing what to expect. And that meant he really _was_ going to have to wait to hear what his future entailed. Which made Kyle feel absolutely powerless; didn't other kids have some control over what happened to them? It just seemed so… wrong – that he had to sit here and _wait_ like some oblivious prey about to be devoured by a predator.

Feeling his nerves begin to rattle, stretch and awaken inside of him, the blond quickly pushed the thought aside. Swallowing hard, he told himself that worrying over what was going to happen was useless. And more importantly, Kyle understood that _this_ wasn't the worst thing he'd ever been through. Hell, it didn't even come close, which meant… he could get through it.

Whatever _it_ was.

He'd survived a lot, and this would just be one more thing.

But… knowing that he needed to calm down and relax was a lot different than actually being able to do so. And when Yelina turned to look at him, and their eyes met, Kyle knew staying calm would be impossible.

The teen hadn't noticed it before – he supposed he'd been too distracted by her following him at the time to care. But face-to-face, Yelina Salas was _intimidating. _It was hard to explain why. Her features were soft and feminine, her supple cheeks framed by loose dark curls. And that wasn't scary at all. But the way her green-speckled eyes bore into his was so intense that Kyle couldn't help but feel a little unglued.

No, scratch that.

It made him feel… all sorts of weird things that didn't make sense – shame, fear, loneliness. And despite a stubborn part of him feeling as though he should continue to meet her gaze, he couldn't help but look away first.

His eyes focusing on anything but the woman next to him, he didn't back to look at her until her soft tones filled the air. "Are you wondering what I told her?" she asked gently.

Her question was the last thing he expected from her, and it threw him off balance. The answer in his head was yes, but all he said, trying to sound as uninterested as possible, was, "Not really." It was a lie, a pretty obvious one, and one that she seemed to see through. However, Kyle had no intention of saying yes, of _asking_ her for something.

She raised an eyebrow in response. "I'll tell you," she offered simply.

"I don't care." It was another obvious lie. But the blond sort of understood that he wasn't going to have an open conversation with this woman. It was just too weird and too soon, and also, Kyle wasn't sure he had it in him.

"Somehow I don't think that's true," Yelina drawled out slowly.

He was about to tell her to shove it when he saw an opening in the conversation. "Well since you're so intent on saying what you do or don't think, why don't we hop off the merry go round? Tell me what you said." Kyle tried to make it sound as though he was more fed up than interested, but he wasn't sure he succeeded.

Nearly suffocating silence fell over them, and the longer they didn't talk, the surer the teenager was that she had seen beyond his ploy. And Kyle noticed how she looked as though she was debating whether or not to tell him now, which sort of confirmed what he suspected.

But after a moment, she began talking anyway. "Your caseworker asked if I thought you should stay out of prison." With what seemed like conviction, Yelina said, "I told her yes."

Something about her words, though, didn't sit right. Kyle thought back as quickly as he could to the previous night and what Horatio had told him. What the redhead had said at the time had stung, and replaying it in his head, the teenager realized it still hurt. Horatio had said… that Yelina was mad that Kyle _existed_. She was pissy over something that the blond had absolutely no control over, something that he would have _never_ chosen for himself.

She hated him for what he was.

And if that were true, why would she miss the opportunity to stuff him in a jail cell?

"Why would you say that?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Her eyes raked over him almost immediately, making him want to squirm in his chair. "Why wouldn't I say that, Kyle?"

His stomach instantly tied itself into knots.

She'd turned the question back onto him, and he had no idea what he was supposed to say. That Horatio had said she was pissed? That Kyle himself wasn't even sure how true that was anymore?

He didn't know what to tell her, so he shrugged silently.

Yelina leaned forward a little, cocking her head sideways so she could get a better look at his face. "No reason?" she asked, her lips turning upwards into a sympathetic smile. When he didn't give her an answer, the brunette said softly, "Okay."

At first Kyle thought she might just be saying that so he would let his guard down. His suspicions weren't entirely unfounded, he told himself. After all the way she said "okay" was the same way his caseworker and cops said it; the teenager had come to understand that that tone rarely actually meant that the conversation could be dropped or would be. Instead it was usually used to lull him into a false sense of security.

But not this time, he guessed, as Yelina asked him, "Are you hungry?" Before he could answer, she offered, "I saw some vending machines when I walked in. I can get you something if you'd like."

The idea of food right now when his stupid caseworker could be filling out the paperwork to send him back to jail… there was absolutely nothing appealing about it. He shook his head earnestly.

"Thirsty?" she asked.

It was almost… mind-boggling to Kyle how she was behaving. People didn't act like this towards him, not unless it was to get something they wanted. And he just _didn't_ get it. Why would she act like this if she were really pissed that he existed?

He didn't know, didn't want to ask, and he certainly didn't want to tell her that a drink would help alleviate the feeling of sandpaper in his mouth.

In the end, it didn't matter though. Whether it was his hesitation in answering – or something else she saw in him, he didn't really know. But she patted his knee lightly before standing up and telling him, "Come on."

His throat seemed to close up at the kindness. It was absolutely the last thing he'd ever expected from her. And unable to speak, he had no choice but to follow her. Which was okay, Kyle thought, because he'd rather just go along than fight her over a drink. His footsteps were tentative behind her. Not once, though, did Yelina turn back to make sure he was following her. The blond supposed that she was just confident (or arrogant). Which rubbed him the wrong way a little, but he continued down the hallway anyway.

When they reached the vending machines, Yelina asked him, "What would you like?"

Kyle shrugged. Once again, the results of foster care were being thrown in his face. Before that had become his life, his mother had asked what he'd wanted, he could recall. But her life had been difficult enough, what with _Him_ in the picture. And the boy had always eaten what she'd given, always tried to do what she'd said. Not that it mattered in the end…

And foster care – well, they didn't care if you had personality quirks or a particular dislike for something. Either way, he'd been expected to eat or drink what they'd said, and he _had_ done that. Perhaps not all too willingly, but Kyle had caught on fast.

He could still do it, of course; he'd done it last night when Horatio had suggested hamburgers, which just the thought of made Kyle nauseous. But it was weird – even the smallest things like "what do you want for dinner" felt like tests.

So he told Yelina quietly, "I don't care." The teenager could only hope that it didn't sound as petulant as he thought it did. And, garnering another intense look from her, he chose to ignore her by staring at the pictures of the sodas in the machine instead.

There were the typical options available, Coke, Sprite, and the like; only one soda stood out to him: Mello Yello. He'd never heard of it before, and his dark eyes naturally fell momentarily on the bright, obnoxious packaging. And he supposed it was that slight pause that made Yelina think he wanted that. Because before he could look away, her thin index finger pressed the button for a Mello Yello.

His "thanks" was mumbled, as he leaned down to grab the soda. But almost immediately Kyle felt… guilty, like he should give her more. Of course, part of him thought it was _completely_ lame that he should feel this way; it just wasn't natural for a person to feel so indebted because of a _soft_ _drink_.

"You're welcome," Yelina said clearly, so in contrast to how he'd muttered his own words. And that just seemed too add to this almost suffocating feeling of inadequacy.

Here he was, Kyle thought, afraid of what his future might hold. Afraid of Horatio and how that would go, afraid of _her_, and a sense of weakness allied itself with the rest of his emotions. And automatically, his being began to reject it.

He wasn't stubborn, but he wasn't going to be weak. He would _not_ give into it, the teenager told himself angrily.

Tapping his fingers on the aluminum can, Kyle asked again, "Why would you tell Ms. Bennett those things? Why would you do that?"

But once _again_, he thought frustratingly, Yelina responded, "Why _wouldn't_ I say those things, Kyle?"

"Why do _you_ keep staying that?" If she wasn't going to answer his questions, then he certainly wasn't going to answer hers.

"Because," she said gently, though irritation was subtly beginning to creep into her voice. "Most people would simply be grateful that I'd lauded them. You're not, and I want to know why." Waiting, Yelina leaned against the vending machine.

But he wasn't going to just… _tell_ her. "You first," Kyle told her.

"All right," she said easily, giving in in a way that was pretty shocking to the teen. "Though I think you'll be a little disappointed with my answer," Yelina warned, folding her arms across her chest. "I told your caseworker what I did, because… it was the truth."

"That's not an answer," he countered, folding his own arms across his chest to mimic her own. "Just because it's the truth doesn't mean you had to admit to it."

"Kyle, I said it, because, not only is it the truth, but it's also something that I _believe_ to be true." She paused for a moment but continued, licking her lips. "What would lying accomplish? Hmm? Would it make this impossible situation any easier? Better?" She shook her head, dark curls springing to action. "That wouldn't help any of us."

_Any of us_, he repeated to himself mentally. The blond wondered if he was included in that – the us part. But he didn't ask her about it.

"Now your turn," Yelina said, interrupting his thoughts. His brown eyes, ready for the challenge, found her green ones. "Why do you think I would tell Ms. Bennett anything different?" Her lilted accent teased him, making him feel the need to speak.

He shifted on his feet uncomfortably. Even if she had been honest with him, Kyle wasn't so sure he was ready to do the same. "Because," he started to say. "Because… well, why wouldn't I?"

God, the answer was lame even to his own ears, but he didn't know that he could tell her about what Horatio had said.

"That's not an answer."

"Too bad," Kyle told her petulantly. "You didn't actually think I was gonna tell you the truth, did you?"

She frowned before shrugging her shoulders. It was obvious to Kyle that Yelina was pondering his words. And finally, she said, "Yes… I kind of think I did expect that. I just… don't see why you should _lie._"

"I'm not _lying_." His voice was taking on a whiny quality that even he could hardly stand.

"Not exactly telling the truth," she countered. The tone of her voice was honest, taunting in a way. But… there was something soft about it as well. And though it didn't seem like her intent, Kyle once again felt that shame grasp hold of him.

Needing something to fidget with, he looked down at the can of soda still in his hand; he'd almost forgotten that he had it; the cool aluminum had since warmed up slightly. Once more the teenager tapped the top before popping the can open.

Kyle took a sip of the neon liquid, which he'd never had before… and nearly gagged at the syrupy sweet flavor. What the _hell_ was that supposed to be, he wondered, as he forced himself to swallow.

Bizarre.

And even weirder still was, when he peaked at her from behind his lashes, seeing Yelina frown at his reaction to the drink.

"I'm not lying," he repeated. "I just don't get why you would… do that – help me, I mean." He sounded as exasperated and confused as he felt.

She took a step closer to him. "It was the right thing to do. And I had no reason not to."

"You're pissed," he blurted out. "_And_ you don't like me, so why bother?" As soon as the words were out, Kyle regretted saying them. He shouldn't have said them, he thought, immediately feeling awkward at the sad look she gave him.

"Kyle," she began to say. But her voice trailed off, as she noticed something. And turning to look, the teenager could see Horatio walking down the hallway towards them.

At that moment, whatever nervousness he'd been feeling before seemed like nothing in comparison to the way he felt now. His palms were sweating, he could tell, despite the semi-cool can in his hands. And despite just taking a swig, his throat felt constricted, his mouth dry.

Was this the end?

Was he going to prison?

Glancing from Horatio to Yelina, Kyle had no idea. And then, as he came to a stop in front of them, the redhead opened his mouth and said quietly, stoically, "We're… good."

The breath he hadn't realized he was holding rushed out of his lungs and mouth loudly. But if the two adults in the hallway noticed, they didn't say anything. Because, despite being together over this custody thing, Kyle had somehow been forgotten.

Horatio looked intently at Yelina, whose own eyes had darkened so much that she looked completely different from only moments ago. The teenager had never had the chance to really pay attention to how they interacted. But now, he had a front row seat, and it was impossible to miss how guarded they were with one another. In the short time he'd known him, Kyle had never seen Horatio look so… sad, so regretful. And the brunette looked like a coiled snake, ready to strike at any moment.

But what followed was little more than small talk, starting with Yelina's strangled, "Congratulations."

"Thank you," Horatio told her earnestly.

There was a moment of awkward silence before she finally said, "Now that that's over with… I have to get back to work." Her heels clicking on the floor, she started to walk past them towards the main entrance.

"Yelina…" Horatio nearly whispered, obviously trying to stop her.

"_Don't_," she warned.

And the redhead let her go, but not for long, because seconds after she disappeared out of Kyle's own sight, the man turned to him and said, "Give me a minute."

Before the teenager could say anything, Horatio left. And though the social worker had apparently approved of… this situation, once again, Kyle was left all alone.

_End (43/??)_


	44. Chapter 43: Conflict

Author's Notes: Thanks to **RedHotLover** for the review. I don't think Horatio is going to be putting hickies on Yelina's neck any time soon though. If only because she'd smack him right now if he tried to do that. Also thanks to **OkieBeth05** for the review. You are correct; we're just now beginning to see what Kyle has up his sleeve.

A huge thank you to my beta, Olly, for her help.

Remember to review after you read, please.

_Disclaimer: I don't own the show._

**No Other One  
****Chapter Forty-Three: Conflict  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_There is luxury in self reproach. When we blame ourselves, we feel no one else has a right to blame us." – Oscar Wilde_

His shoes squeaked on the freshly waxed floor, as he chased after her.

In a slightly more perfect world, Horatio was absolutely sure he'd be thrilled to gain custody of Kyle. But having sat through _another_ round with the social worker, having listened to her tell him the things Yelina said… he was more relieved than happy. And at the same time, not even his relief felt all that whole. Because underneath all of it, the redhead was beginning to realize that this situation was still tentative.

_Because_, after everything his sister-in-law said the previous day, Horatio couldn't see how she could mean what she'd told the social worker. Yesterday, Yelina had been furious.

For that matter, she had been furious _today_.

And… maybe some of the things she'd said to him could be written off as anger.

Telling him that he wasn't _really_ a father, though?

Horatio didn't think the same could be said for that.

And if she really believed those things, then… she'd lied to Clarissa Bennett. Which meant, if the social worker found out, that his son's custody could once _again_ be questioned.

Throwing the main doors open, Horatio thought once more: in a more perfect world, he'd be able to spend time with Kyle right now. But in this one… he was chasing after his sister-in-law instead.

"Yelina," he called after her, both desperate to apologize _and_ chastise.

"Don't follow me," she ordered. Not once did she look back at him, nor did she slow down her quick pace. And it was almost bizarre how the brunette could walk so briskly, he mused, in the tall heels she wore.

"_Yelina."_

Still, she didn't turn around, and maybe that should have been a sign for him to stop chasing after her and leave her alone. But, if Kyle could be taken away from him, then, Horatio decided, he _couldn't_ let her go without saying his share.

Springing forward quickly, his fingers latched onto the material of her black suit coat. The slight tug forced her to stop, thankfully.

The redhead watched carefully, as she inhaled slowly, unevenly. Holding the air in for a moment, Yelina exhaled in a rush, as she turned around. They didn't make eye contact at first, her gaze cast downward at where he still held her sleeve captive. Her thick lashes kissed her cheeks a few times, as she clearly tried to process what he was doing.

Finally, the brunette told him, "Let me go." There was no warning in her tone. Nothing that screamed, "I'm going to punch you," anyway. All considered, she seemed pretty calm, Horatio would think later on.

Nevertheless, he obeyed the command. Of course the redhead hoped she would stay so that he could talk to her. But… it made him nauseated to think of using _force_ to make that happen.

"Please," Horatio implored simply.

There was a short moment, which seemed to expand with expectant silence.

Would she agree?

Would she tell him to go to hell (again)?

Was this really his last chance to make things right?

All the questions running through his head seemed connected to his mouth and feet. "Please," he whispered softly, his body shifting from heel to heel.

Her eventual response was a sigh, sad and low. He watched the muscles of her mouth move ever so slightly. Folding her arms across her chest, Yelina asked in exasperation, "What do you want?"

He swallowed hard, trying to mentally find the words he wanted to say.

"Nothing?" she nearly snapped when he didn't respond right away. "What do you _want_, Horatio?"

"You shouldn't have lied to Bennett," Horatio said, his own voice harder than he would have liked. So he softened his tone and continued, ignoring the fury radiating from Yelina. "If she were to find out –"

"I did _not_ lie," she argued. Her body teetered ever so slightly back and forth in anger. Biting down on her lip, she reached up and ran a hand through her dark curls.

"_Yes_… you did, Yelina."

"No." And then she scoffed before saying, "And I can't believe that you would even _think_ about criticizing me for-"

"I will _lose_ Kyle if that woman ever finds out," he told her, cocking his head. "You should know that. I think you _do_ know that, and I –"

"_What do you want from me_?"

Her words rang out in the deserted parking lot. Odd how it seemed to do that; she hadn't shouted. Filled with an obvious anguish, her voice had barely been louder than normal. Yet it had resonated within him nonetheless, forcing him to re-examine her once more.

There were tears in her eyes. The irises were suspiciously bright, even as she bit down on the inside of her mouth to hold it together.

He had pushed too hard.

She was wrong to lie, but… he had gone too far, had assumed she could handle more than she obviously could.

He'd screwed up.

Again.

Realizing that, Horatio was stunned into silence.

He swallowed hard. Whatever he wanted to say was instantly forgotten, the words eluding him even if he wanted to utter them.

And so it was Yelina, with her index finger pointed warningly at him, who spoke first. Her voice low and dangerous, she said, "I am going to say this. _Once_. And then if you and your son don't believe me…" She threw her hands in the air, as Horatio wondered what Kyle had to do any of this. "It won't be my problem."

The brunette stressed, "I did _not_ lie." Each word was clipped despite her thickened accent. "I said –"

"That I would be a good father to Kyle," he finished quietly. He opened his mouth to say more but faltered, unsure he wanted to keep going.

His hesitation made Yelina go quiet, which was kind of nice, he thought. And finally, Horatio continued, in a low rasp, "But… you don't believe that, do you?"

"I didn't lie," she repeated, despite saying she _wouldn't_ do that. Under any other circumstance, the redhead was absolutely sure he'd laugh at his sister-in-law's flip-flopping. In the years he'd known her, she had occasionally displayed this personality quirk. Sometimes, she would just get so focused, so involved emotionally that it seemed like she'd thrown logic out the window.

But this wasn't entirely like that. Because her answer, despite the contradiction, made _sense_ him. Yelina hadn't planned on saying it once more, but then again… the alternative answer was to admit that he could be a good father. And it was obvious in the way she skated around the question that she had no intention of doing that.

_That_ stung.

"You seemed pretty certain yesterday that I… wasn't any sort of father to Kyle," he reminded.

She sighed again, licking her lips. "I know what I said." Before he could say anything, Yelina added, "And… I don't regret saying it, Horatio."

At that moment, he mentally corrected what he'd said to himself earlier. It was _this_ that stung worse than any other insult or abuse could. "_That_," he said slowly, swallowing hard. "Isn't fair." In all the years he had known her, Horatio hadn't thought it possible for him to incur this much wrath from her. But here they were, her fury aimed directly at him. Here he stood in the middle of a _parking lot_, arguing with her, feeling as though she was about to boil over.

They danced dangerously close to the edge. And the smart thing to do was very obviously to let her go, to leave – definitely _not_ to stay here to defend himself; that was what he would normally do. But… Horatio couldn't do that in this – not now. Because this involved Kyle and his _parenting_. Which… was still incredibly new, and it wasn't a perfect fit, the redhead would easily admit.

That didn't mean he wanted her to think the same thing.

"I will… admit to screwing up," Horatio told her. "But I have taken… responsibility for that… I have done _everything_ I could possibly do to help Kyle – gotten him out of jail, _this._"

"Congratulations," she said, a smirk appearing on her face. "Two things in sixteen years; you'll win a prize for that."

He sighed and put his hands in his pockets, hoping that it would abate the uncharacteristic need to strangle her. "And you expect _me_ to believe that you told the social worker the truth."

Yelina stepped closer to him, as a car drove slowly by. "_Yes_, I do." As soon as the Honda had passed, the brunette moved away from him. "Had she asked me if I thought you _were_ a good father, I _would_ have said no. If she had asked if those sixteen years without you completely screwed that boy up, I would have told her _absolutely_," she hissed. Looking down at the pavement for a minute hesitantly, Yelina took a minute before finishing, "But what she asked me was whether or not you _could_ be a good father to Kyle."

Taking his sunglasses out of his pocket, he fiddled with them nervously. He didn't respond right away, needing the time to parse out her words and comprehend them. And when he had done so, Horatio said slowly, "So what you're saying is… I have custody because of Bennett's _wording._"

"No," she said gently, shaking her head. "But it _is_ complicated for me."

"Apparently." He raised his eyebrows sadly at her. After everything that had happened between them over the years, the redhead hated to think that it _could_ be complicated. He'd helped her, her son, _Raymond_. And yet… one mistake and all of that had changed.

He hated the way that felt.

"So you don't want me to lie," Yelina drawled, "But if I tell you the truth, that's not okay either?" Horatio shifted on his feet a little and opened his mouth to respond, but she held up her hand, stopping him. "Just… _don't_, Horatio."

Her voice was filled with exasperation, a frustration that he was beginning to feel keenly. "Right now," she told him, "You don't even _know_ what you want." Looking down, Yelina searched through her purse for her keys. "If you're mad at me because I _see_ how hurt Kyle has been from this…"

She shrugged. "I won't apologize for that. If you're mad at me because I can't – and _won't_ – endorse you for father of the year, I'm sorry." There was a sadness in her eyes then that was surely mirrored in his own. And she became quieter then, softer than she'd been all day. "All those years with Ray Junior, I always thought… that would be something I could do."

Grabbing her keys, she flipped through the metal set to find the one for her car. "I wish things could be different, Horatio. But they're not." It was almost weird hearing _her_ say that, he thought. After all, shouldn't he be the one telling _her_ that Kyle was here to stay?

And then her voice hardened as she told him, "And if you're mad at me because I helped you get custody of Kyle – if you're angry because you don't know _what_ to do now – then…" She smiled humorously. "Then I guess you should have thought about that before asking me to come down here."

"I'm not having second thoughts," Horatio told her. Which was true, in a way. At this point, he'd been all over the map in his feelings on Kyle. First, he'd _hated_ the boy and then wanted to deny that they were father and son. And even though it hadn't even been a week since they'd met, Horatio was way passed _second_ thoughts. In fact, the redhead thought, slightly amused at the idea, he was probably on _twenty_-second thoughts. Maybe more.

"Good," Yelina said. "Then stop wasting my time and go be with your son."

She turned to leave, but once more, Horatio reached out, capturing her sleeve in his hand. "Yelina," he said, instantly feeling his nerves ratchet themselves upward.

Expectantly the brunette waited for him to continue. Only the redhead hadn't thought it through, and finding the right words was once _again_ hard. He wanted to tell her so many things, but… it all just seemed so wrong to tell her now when she was angry. And only when she started to pull away did he tell her, "I'm sorry… You're… right. About everything."

This time, it was Yelina who raised an eyebrow at him. But all she said was "Go spend time with your son."

With a quick tug, she'd managed to pull herself away, and she began walking towards her car. Her hair swaying back and forth, he watched as she left him standing there – his "Forgive me" swallowed by the wind.

Frozen, the redhead stayed where he was, his gaze on her even as she drove out of the parking lot. Part of him was all too aware that he needed to go find Kyle. If only because they _were_ still at social services, Horatio thought it probably wasn't too smart to leave the teenager alone. But at the same time, his muscles didn't seem to want to cooperate. Because on some level, his body understood what he didn't want to believe; this was how things were going to be with Yelina from now on.

She was angry, and he was confused, and together… they were as good a pairing as mushrooms and arsenic.

A week ago, he couldn't have seen that ever happening. If anything, seven days ago, Horatio had taken for granted their friendship; foolishly he had assumed that that connection would always be there.

But now, that had changed completely.

Kyle existed, and nothing was the same. And it didn't seem like Yelina hated him, but… it was _complicated_, just as she'd said. Which he _hated_.

True, it had always been that way. Reluctantly he thought to himself that…. wanting your sister-in-law usually made things complicated. And the way she'd been brought into his life had always added a certain amount of bitterness to his feelings for her. After all, Ray had gotten to her first.

His little brother had beaten him to the punch.

But the way things were now, the complications, had nothing to do with Ray and everything to do with him, _his_ own actions. And that fact was nearly impossible to separate out from his feelings for Kyle.

Not that he blamed the teenager.

He didn't. But… part of Horatio wished Julia had never happened, and that meant… part of him wished _Kyle_ had never happened.

It killed him to think that, but he couldn't deny in his heart that it was true. And so, in addition to all the _other_ problems they would face now, the father and son would have to find some way to navigate around _that_.

Finally moving, the redhead went back inside, finding Kyle exactly where he'd left him. The blond had a soda in his hand and looked at him expectantly. But at the moment, Horatio had no answers to give him. So he asked, "Are you ready to go?"

Kyle nodded his head slowly, the boy's dark eyes narrowing on him in confusion.

With both relief and dread, Horatio left social services – desperately praying that Clarissa Bennett (and his son) would never know the worry inside of him.

_End (44/??)_


	45. Chapter 44: Ghosts and Other Specters

Author's Note: A ginormous thanks to Olly, my beta, for all of her comments, thoughts, and Ray Junior love.

Please read and review.

_Disclaimer: I don't own it!_

**No Other One  
****Chapter Forty-Four: Ghosts and Other Specters  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_You can clutch the past so tightly to your chest that it leaves your arms too full to embrace the present." – Jan Glidewell_

Though it was impossible to say what exactly, Kyle could tell something had changed. When Horatio returned, he seemed… distracted. Even more so than when they'd been under the threat of Clarissa Bennett, talentless hack extraordinaire. Which made no sense to the teenager, because, despite not feeling this way himself, Horatio _should_ have been relieved. The custody thing was settled, so the tension between them should have relaxed.

… Right?

Kyle didn't really know anymore. Or maybe he never _knew_ the answer. He would have just thought that, since Dragon Lady had gotten off their backs, things would be more relaxed. But he clearly seemed to be wrong. The redhead nervously put on his sunglasses, and the teenager, in turn, took another sip of his sickly sweet soda.

"Are you ready to go?" Horatio asked in a hurry.

Nodding his head, he didn't say anything, as he followed the man back out to the car. Horatio's pace was quick, faster than Kyle could comfortably keep up with. So the blond stopped trying, preferring to trail behind the redhead.

Thinking back to only an hour or so before, Kyle couldn't remember Horatio walking so quickly. Maybe he had – the teenager had been a _little_ distracted by the whole custody issue, so he might not have noticed. But still, Horatio seemed even more aloof and hurried than he'd been in the last day or so.

What the hell had Yelina said in the parking lot to cause _this_?

They were silent when they drove out of the parking lot and remained that way long after they'd left. And Kyle thought then that… well, actually, _nothing_ had changed.

Okay, so the redhead was being weirder than normal.

But… nothing _really_ had changed; Horatio still didn't really know him. He didn't really know the man responsible for half of his genes. Things were still awkward and bizarre, and they'd made it over this _one_ hurdle, but they weren't off the racetrack yet. Or something, Kyle thought, his nose scrunching up at the weird metaphor.

However he wanted to put it, the bottom line was still the same: things weren't over yet. And… the teenager couldn't see how this situation would ever resolve itself. Horatio had custody, but that couldn't automatically undo sixteen years of abandonment. That much seemed obvious; after all, the DNA test had confirmed it and all that, and yet, Kyle couldn't exactly call the redhead "dad."

So, in a way, he supposed it didn't really matter what was bothering Horatio or what Yelina had said. Those were things he could think about for hours on end, the blond figured. And they were also things he had no control over, so… his _only_ job, Kyle decided, was to stay out of jail.

And foster care.

Of course that seemed to be easier said than done.

_Rarely_ did Kyle seek out trouble. Naturally it happened some of the time, like when he would occasionally smoke weed. And if he were arrested for that, then even he would have admitted that that was totally his fault.

But more often than not, he just seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrongest time possible. So when the city bus turned a corner, he was the one to get splashed with stale rainwater. So when he decided it wasn't all that bad to sleep with his foster family's nympho daughter, he got caught… among other things.

The teenager had never liked to believe in fate, or luck for that matter. True, he could understand why some people did – and more than that, he could see why someone might say his own life had been destined to… be _this. _But that didn't mean he could accept it himself.

The idea that everything that had happened was _supposed_ to be that way was impossible to accept.

But sometimes the proof seemed to be so overwhelming; every now and then, when things were really bad, it really _did_ feel as though he was playing by someone else's rules and completely out of control. And if that was what was happening, how could he avoid the unavoidable?

How could he stay out of trouble now if trouble was something written all over his DNA?

Kyle shuddered at the question plaguing his mind. And quickly, he pushed it away, afraid of where the train of thought might be headed.

Luckily (or maybe not), though, Horatio didn't seem to notice his demeanor at all, the redhead focusing on driving. Honestly, the teenager didn't know how to feel about his… _father_'s lack of awareness.

Shouldn't Horatio have been, like, a _little_ better at noticing these things? If only cause of the cop thing?

Kyle didn't really know what to think about it at all.

Initially he thought it was kind of nice to have the space to think about all the random crap popping into his brain. He could ponder anything he wanted to, he supposed. And Horatio wouldn't – or at least he didn't – seem to notice. Which was nice, because he would have _thought_ would be nice, because he didn't have to be self-conscious.

This particular moment in time was _completely_ different than the brief interlude in front of the vending machines with Yelina.

She, unlike Horatio, hadn't missed a thing; really, she'd been so _in tune_ that it had felt like she'd been accessing some portal into mind. His words had been few and far between, but the brunette had somehow… understood what he'd wanted.

Which wasn't really all that great. Especially since Kyle had been trying to keep everything to himself.

But Yelina had pretty much trampled all over that plan, and her ability to see _him_ had been – _was_ – scary. She'd paid _close_ attention to him, to everything he did, without any reason to. When it was happening, he'd hated it, because… Kyle liked to think of himself as untouchable, apart from everyone else.

And she'd seen beyond all of that, even though she easily could have ignored him.

His gaze instantly flicked downward to the warming can in his hands.

It made no sense; here Horatio was, essentially giving him the space Kyle _wanted_, but it felt all wrong. And Yelina had done absolutely everything he _hadn't_ expected or wanted or even _liked,_ but that felt… right in some bizarre way.

Horatio was doing all the things that the teenager would have normally wanted in this situation. But there was something wrong about it, about this complete _lack_ of interest.

Well… Kyle hesitated then, thinking that maybe he was being too harsh. Maybe Horatio just needed time to deal with whatever had happened with Yelina, he thought.

Ugh, the teenager immediately told himself. It really _was_ a crappy situation when _he_ was telling himself essentially to just hang in there and give the man sitting next to him the benefit of the doubt. And somehow, everything inside of him seemed to get all tangled up; the very act of trying to think positive filled Kyle with resentment. For Horatio and everything else.

_Nothing_ ever came easy to the teenager. And, not that he really believed parenting and family were an exception to that rule, but, like, it _should_ have been. Right?

Well, who knows, he thought with a shrug. He was lamely attempting to forget the question all together, he understood. All that mattered, Kyle told himself, was what was directly in front of him.

But for the rest of the day, it seemed like _everything_ placed in front of him _heightened_ the query trapped in his mind. _Wonderful_.

Was this father-son thing supposed to be easy? Natural?

There were moments where things appeared to be easy to handle. At least easier, Kyle mentally corrected. Horatio had kept his word about going to lunch and then shopping, which was kind of cool. The teenager had had things bought for him before – well, _obviously_ that had happened or else he'd have been running around naked.

Still, this felt different.

He'd never had his own computer, never really been given the option to pick out his own clothes. And even though Kyle pretty much let Horatio lead him into what to buy, for now, that was okay.

It wasn't as personalized as Yelina picking out the soda for him, but… still. The teenager had _never_ had anyone do this for him; this _was_ different, and maybe it was just the material possessions talking. Each time he picked up something new, though, a little piece of him thought that _maybe_ things could be okay.

But at the same time, they weren't talking – Kyle noticed. Well, they said stuff about how he would need a raincoat and how a laptop would be good for carrying around and things like that. But there was no real… _conversation_ going on.

And because of that fact, he couldn't help but keep going back to earlier with Yelina. She'd only gotten him a soda – something that could hardly compare to a _computer._ But she had also talked to him, had explained things to him, even if he wasn't sure he believed what she was saying. Of course, he told himself, it would _suck_ if she really were lying. And yet Kyle could still appreciate the conversation anyway. Because, even if it was all lies, they had been talking about things that only the two of them could talk about.

Not like this with Horatio, where both of them could have been talking to anyone else on the planet. There was nothing personal about gigabytes and shoes; there was no inherent meaning in it.

And so… despite how uncomfortable she had made him feel, at that moment, Kyle kind of wished… he were with Yelina instead.

000000000000000000000000000

He had a cousin, Ray Junior thought to himself for the five billionth time that _hour_.

Vomit, he told himself, rolling his eyes.

He had a _cousin._

The whole thing still really grossed the teenager out. Pissed him off too, because Horatio was supposed to be his uncle, who was kind of cool but not really. Horatio was supposed to be one of those people who you could always depend on.

But this whole "I have a kid" business put all of that into question for Ray.

And sitting at his computer, trying to fix the kinks in his videogame, the teen couldn't help but think about this change in events again.

Horatio had a damn kid.

The entire concept made his stomach twist into knots, which _really_ didn't feel good, cause right now, his stomach was loaded with tons of Chinese food.

His mother had warned him against scarfing down all of the egg rolls. But at the time, he'd been convinced that her words of advice were more about her own desire for the crispy logs of goodness. And so Ray had, selfishly, munched each and every one of them down while she was too busy trying to scoop nasty broccoli onto his plate to notice.

Now, though, he could clearly see that had been a mistake.

Not because it was kind of cruel or anything like that, but because it, in combination with his family's drama, made him feel like hurling all over his computer. The fake blood and chunks of brain added to his videogame weren't helping either, he thought grimly, hitting the pause button.

At some point, Ray Junior had accepted that thinking about this new family member was… a waste of time. It wasn't like doing it got him any closer to understanding just how it had happened. Spending all of his time pondering it didn't do _anything_ except make him feel sick to his stomach.

But he couldn't stop himself.

It was like one of those paper cuts that a person got in the creases of their hands. Those were the kind that were impossible to avoid hitting, the kind that Ray sometimes liked to run a fingernail over; it would hurt, but digging at it hard for those few seconds would make the general throb of the injury less annoying.

By thinking and overthinking about Horatio and this _newbie_, he was making the overall situation _more_ bearable.

Or something… cause that didn't really make that much sense, Ray Junior thought to himself.

His stomach gurgled loudly at that moment, reinforcing the fact that he didn't feel well. Like he could really forget, he thought miserably.

Even more painful was a memory that popped into his mind, vivid and lush and so complete that he was absolutely sure he'd be reliving it if not for the eminent threat of barfing.

It had been the first Halloween since his father had died. His elementary school had carried on like nothing had happened, because for his classmates nothing _had_ happened to them. And so they had been excited with the idea of trick or treating and getting tons of candy. The teachers wanting to make the best of this had taken the opportunity to teach them all about Halloween and what the holiday meant.

They'd scrubbed the whole lesson of anything bad or negative; they hadn't talked about witches or dead people or anything scary. But that hadn't exactly stopped the other kids from doing that. And one in particular – Jenny Francis had taken the opportunity to tell him all about how the dead came back to life on October Thirty-First.

Even though it had been _years_ since their conversation, Ray could still recall what Jenny had said. "Everyone who's dead wakes up on Halloween like they were just taking a really, really long nap. But their bodies stay the way they were when they died. My mom once saw a headless guy try and get in his car. But he couldn't find the door handle cause he had no eyeballs!"

And then she'd laughed – something heartier than her usual giggle – her braids flopping back and forth as her body had shook with glee.

Of course, Ray didn't _still_ believe her. Though he figured that he had more reason now to believe that his father could come back to life… But at the time, Jenny's story had _terrified_ him.

If Toaster Oven (did Halloween apply to parakeets he'd wondered) had come back to life, his younger self had reasoned that that would be okay. Because his bird would look normal and not scary.

His father, on the other hand…

After hearing that story, Ray Junior hadn't been able to sleep, his dreams filled with gruesome images of his headless father trying to eat cheerios.

The little boy had become so afraid of the holiday that he'd thought the only way to avoid seeing his dead father was to hide from it. So he decided to build a fort out of the couch cushions and wall himself in with a flashlight and Stove Top, his stuffed bear. Ray wasn't sure if this was related to the memory or not, but he could also recall throwing a box of cheerios away.

Anyway, stuck in his ghost-free fort, he had refused to come out. His mother had tried to lure him out with candy; it hadn't worked, and she'd quickly given up, probably because she had still been trying to deal with her own pain.

And Ray had been prepared to stay in his hidey-hole all night by himself until the dead went back to wherever they were supposed to be. But then his uncle had poked his head into the fort, and, though he couldn't really remember what had been said, somehow Horatio had gotten him to explain what was going on.

"Well," the redhead had said, his blue eyes filled with a sadness that Ray could still recall perfectly. "I don't think… that's gonna happen, buddy."

"It could." Squeezing his ratty teddy bear close, Ray Junior had explained, "So I gotta stay here."

"So you've gotta stay there," Horatio had parroted to himself. The teenager could remember how his uncle had cocked his head then, which had made the couch cushions shift just enough to make him nervous. "Okay… want me to join you?"

"No."

"No?" he'd asked, confused. "But… _you_ are forgetting… the first rule of forts."

"What's that?"

"Every fort," Horatio had explained, "needs a guard." Ray could remember looking down at Stove Top and thinking that a stuffed bear was hardly any protection at all. "_I_ think… I'd be pretty good at that. What do you think?"

Ray Junior had nodded his head and scooted over in the cramped area, letting his uncle in. And the two had huddled together in there for a while until the little boy had fallen asleep, his head resting on Horatio's knees.

The teenager wasn't exactly sure what made him think of that. And part of him was distinctly amused at how neither he nor his uncle had thought about bringing his mother into the fort.

Well, maybe it was understandable for Horatio not to be concerned, since he hadn't believed dead people were gonna break into the house. But Ray _had_, and still… he hadn't exactly tried to protect his own mother.

Then again, he doubted – and probably had then – that _anyone_ would mess around her. He'd seen her pissed _a lot_, but for a while there… the teenager had almost forgotten how angry she could be. Without his father around in the past year, there had been fewer opportunities for her to be _that_ angry.

But yesterday had been a reminder of just how far she could and would go.

And today, right _now_, was a reminder of just how _stupid_ he could be when it came to his family members. He'd trusted his dad and probably shouldn't have, and now the teen had gone down the same path with his uncle.

Ray didn't know exactly why he'd thought of that memory from all those years ago. But what did seem perfectly clear was that he and his uncle were never going to be close like that again. Because Horatio had lied about who he was and had this kid, and there was _no_ way Ray Junior could _ever_ really trust him again.

That time was over.

And… maybe the worst part of all was him sitting at his desk thinking about how there was this other family member now who… _could_ have that relationship with Horatio. It was bad enough, Ray thought sadly, to lose that trust and love. But it was absolutely unbearable to think about _somebody else_ _gaining those things at his expense_.

His stomach tightened further, twisting furiously inside of him. Jealousy and anger like he'd never felt before began to stir within in, swirling in his gut along with the stomach acid and egg rolls that threatened to bring him to his knees.

He had spent so much time thinking about what his uncle had done that he'd completely ignored what this _newbie _was getting. And now that Ray _had_ thought about it, the need for revenge became all encompassing.

He would take this kid down.

He would make him pay.

He would make sure that this boy lost everything that he himself had lost.

All Ray needed now was a plan…

_End (45/??)_


	46. Chapter 45: Limits

Author's Notes: First of all, I have to thank my wonderful beta, Olly (aka **Squeeka Cuomo**). Without your help, I wouldn't have done this fic, and I certainly wouldn't have been able to write Ray Junior without your input and support. Also thanks to **OkieBeth05** for the review. I too hope that Raymond doesn't do something stupid, but we'll have to see if he actually pulls back. And of course, thank you to **RedHotLover** for the review.

Please read and review.

_Disclaimer: I don't own the show._

**No Other One  
****Chapter Forty-Five: Limits  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_Stone walls do not a prison make,  
__Nor iron bars a cage…__If I have freedom in my life  
And in my soul am free" – Richard Lovelace _

She was reading on the couch when her son came to her. Yelina's hazel eyes taking his pale face in, the mother was only mildly surprised when he miserably plopped down next to her. The cushions beneath her shifted, as Ray Junior pulled his legs up onto the couch.

"I don't feel good," he muttered, laying his head down in her lap. Setting aside her book, she instinctively began to play with his hair. Her thin fingers ran through his curls, but that didn't stop Yelina from thinking he wanted something.

He had long since passed the age where his mother's comfort was actively sought. If anything, these days, she was just happy when he didn't push her away.

But even with that in mind, this felt natural. It felt so right and easy that she could _almost_ believe that there was no agenda behind it and probably would have, if it weren't for the fact that she _knew_ her son.

"What's wrong?" she asked gently.

Groaning he told her, "Ate too much."

Well, it served him right, Yelina thought ruefully. She'd told him to slow down and eat as though he'd been taught table manners. And when he'd stubbornly continued to shovel the Chinese food in, the mother had _warned_ him about eating so fast. "You keep eating like that, and you'll be sick," she had told him.

But her words had fallen on deaf ears.

What else was new?

She supposed that, like any teenager, Ray Junior thought he knew better than she did. Or maybe that wasn't it at all, Yelina considered. Because part of her was _absolutely_ sure that he could completely doubt himself and he'd _still_ refuse to take her advice. If only because _his mother_ had told him to do something, he would probably abstain from doing it.

And that fact sometimes made her wonder if she should try reverse psychology. Maybe… instead of asking him to clean his room, she would insist that he keep it dirty. Or better yet (since that thought made her shiver), rather than practically _plead_ for an egg roll, she should shove them all on his plate. See if that would work.

Part of her absolutely believed it would. But then again, knowing her son, she figured, that would be the one time he _did_ listen to her.

Looking down at him now, it was hard to tell him that he should listen to her more. As much as Yelina _wanted_ to do that, he was clearly suffering already, and she was _far_ too old to play these games. So instead, she asked, "Want me to get you anything, honey?"

He shook his head no, and for a moment, she expected him to get up and leave. But then he spoke up, "Have you talked to Uncle Horatio?"

Her fingers paused in his hair, as she worried, perhaps irrationally so, that he had somehow learned that she'd spent part of her day with him. No, Yelina told herself, it was _completely_ irrational to think that. Because… there was nothing to hide in that. She hadn't planned on it, hadn't spent the afternoon sipping cocktails with her brother-in-law on the beach either.

Still, it was better to play it safe.

Having spent enough time the last few days fighting with Ray Junior and just about everyone else, the brunette did not want to start another argument. Her fingers moving once more, she asked, "Why do you want to know?"

"Well, I was curious," he nearly snapped. "But since you didn't just answer the question, I guess that's a _yes."_

Yelina could feel the tension setting into his body, and it was hard not to notice the way his eyes had darkened. Why was it, she almost wanted to ask her son, that they always seemed to get into a fight… when they were trying to _avoid_ fighting?

She sighed, pushing the question aside. Asking that wouldn't help the situation, she knew that much. And if the brunette wanted to make things calm once more, she'd have to defuse the situation quickly.

"You're such a smart boy," she nearly cooed, which succeeded in replacing Ray's anger with mild annoyance. "I happen to be curious as well. But…" She threw her hands in the air. "Yes, I did see your uncle today."

Ray shifted on the couch next to her. "Why?" he asked cautiously.

"He… needed my help," she offered, knowing the answer wasn't a good one.

The tension in the air seemed to multiply exponentially, and Yelina was sure she didn't imagine the accusation in her son's tone when he asked again, "Why?"

Once more she sighed. "Today, Horatio and… Kyle –"

"Who?"

She frowned as she told Ray quietly, "Horatio's… _son._"

He sat up immediately if not quickly. She watched him carefully, hoping that he would remain calm. Which was about as likely as being able to control a hurricane.

But instead he blinked slowly, his forehead knitting in confusion. "Why… that name sounds familiar."

"That file you found the other day. The one you thought was somehow connected to your father." Ray Junior nodded his head in recognition, and for the life of her, Yelina hoped she could stop talking; it was bad enough that _she_ knew Horatio had… slept with the woman her husband had lost his virginity to.

But it would be far worse if she had to connect the dots for _her child_.

"Yeah."

There was no recognition in the single word, and she knew she would have to go further in her explanation. Still, the brunette decided it was best to leave some of what she knew a secret. "The teenager in the file – Kyle – is… Horatio's son," she explained as gently as she could.

It was all that needed to be said.

His eyes widened in understanding, darkening and narrowing seconds later. The set in his shoulders hardened, and his cheeks were turning a deep shade of red. But instead of directing his anger at the appropriate person, he turned to her and snapped, "So… what? You and those two just got together and -"

"Stop it," she ordered calmly.

"No," Ray fought back. "Why would you spend time with –"

Grabbing one of his hands, Yelina told him firmly, "Calm down or you're going to be sick."

The teenager opened his mouth, probably to say that he would be fine. But the only sound to come out was a groan of pain. He clutched at his stomach, and for a second, the mother watched to see if he would be okay or if he was going to throw up all over her couch.

The next moment passed slowly, Yelina feeling increasingly anxious over what might happen. And though her son was the sick one, she could somehow feel her own stomach tie into knots at the idea of him being ill and in pain.

Only when he nodded his head and lay back down on the couch did her tension ease. "Fine," he told her begrudgingly, moving closer to her again.

"I didn't _plan_ on meeting them, Raymond," she defended quietly. One of her hands returned to his hair, the other beginning to make slow circles on his back. She had forgotten, she realized, how… desperate for affection he could be when he was sick. It had been so long since he'd had even a cold that she'd forgotten how much he _liked_ being taken care of and doted on when he wasn't well.

"But today, they were going to social services to straighten out Kyle's custody," she explained, pushing aside the thought.

"And you had to go?" he asked glumly.

"I didn't want to but…" The mother brushed a curl out of his face. She considered telling him how Kyle somehow acted as a mirror for her own maternal feelings. Contemplated explaining to her son that, when she looked into the blond's sad eyes, she could see _exactly_ what she was afraid of as a parent. But somehow, Yelina thought, it would be lost on Ray Junior; he would only see it as a betrayal of sorts, which was completely illogical, she supposed.

And yet Yelina knew that was exactly what would happen.

"It was the right thing to do," she said simply. But the way Raymond bristled at her answer made it clear that he didn't agree. "I know you might not think so, Ray, but it's important to me that _Kyle_ not be punished for what _Horatio_ did. Because I would really hate to see what would happen if that same logic were applied to _you_."

"Well, jeez," he snapped, getting up off the couch. She watched as he began to head back towards his bedroom. "I wish someone would have told me that that logic _hadn't_ been applied to me," he snarled.

For the third time, she sighed. And when her son slammed his bedroom door, Yelina wasn't surprised.

Nor did she go after him.

* * *

Kyle was… not Ray Junior.

Sitting at the dinner table, Horatio knew all too well how horrible that sounded. He'd grown up in a household filled with comparisons. And while he'd essentially been dubbed the good boy, the redhead had never liked it. Not just because it had made his little brother always feel less than, but because those comparison had always put the weight of the world on Horatio's shoulders.

And just _making_ the contrast between Kyle and Ray now put the redhead off his dinner. Using his fork, he pushed a bite of veal around on his white plate, mimicking what his own son was doing. It was almost sad, he thought at the moment, that the one meal he could _really_ cook was being wasted.

But then again, Horatio defended to himself, maybe his comparison between the teenagers was okay; because he wasn't saying that one was better than the other, righter than the other. Just that they were _different_.

Temporarily his mind eased, and he chewed another bite of the tender veal. He really _did_ hate to see the food wasted. Aside from the principle of it, he'd spent time _making_ the food, and that alone should have made it worth eating.

But apparently, Kyle didn't seem to think so.

The boy had eaten very little since they'd sat down to dinner, said even less. And for a moment, Horatio entertained the idea that the teenager didn't like veal. Watching him then, the redhead could see how Kyle occasionally took a bite of the meat but stuck mainly to the vegetables.

Horatio hadn't really considered the blond's food preferences when he'd decided to make dinner. And… he probably should have, he thought dejectedly. That's what any _normal_ parent would do, right? That he hadn't just seemed to be one more reason why he should_ not_ have done this, he told himself.

But… even if he _had_ thought about those things, Horatio decided, it wouldn't have helped. Because last night, they'd had hamburgers, and there hadn't been a problem there.

True, some people had an aversion to veal, but the redhead had always found that point of view to be hypocritical. If a person was willing to eat the animal, it didn't _matter_ how long the cow had been alive or what sort of life it had lived. If a person was ready to make that sacrifice, then it didn't matter the feelings that went into it.

Just as it never _really_ mattered why someone chose to kill another human being. The reasons never truly surpassed the act itself. Speaking of hypocrisy, he thought glumly; as a lieutenant, he had killed… _plenty_ of people. And though he'd had his reasons, none of them ever seemed to take the edge off of the fact that he had _killed_ someone.

And he thought Kyle would agree with him in that.

But… maybe not.

Because, really, what did Horatio know about this boy?

He'd read things in the foster care file, and he'd seen all of the crimes Kyle had committed as a juvenile. But that hardly amounted to any sort of understanding.

And Horatio realized then that he _hadn't_ just been comparing the two teenagers; it hadn't been harmless, because what it came down to was… Ray Junior was _so_ much easier.

It was obviously true that his nephew had a temper and a bit of a nasty streak. The boy could be as mean and insensitive as his namesake. But there was some comfort to be had in Ray's honesty. Because _not once_ did Horatio wonder where they stood.

That much had always been clear. And similarly, because Ray Junior was so open, it was never hard to understand what he was feeling – never hard to help him work through his problems.

Giving his nephew what he needed was so easy, because it was _always_ right there on the table for anyone to see.

_Kyle_ on the other hand…

_Everything_ was hidden and unsaid. _Everything_ had subtext and paradoxically no meaning at all. No one put anything on the table, and Horatio understood that it was probably _his_ job to start them off.

But openness wasn't his strong suit; it had never been, and he couldn't just change that overnight. Because if it really were easy to do that, he _would have_ done it _years_ ago.

For Yelina.

For his wife.

For himself.

But as it was, he didn't know how to offer himself to Kyle, and he certainly didn't know what to tell the boy to make things better between them. So Horatio lamely asked, "Veal okay?"

"It's good" was the teenager's quick response, making it pretty clear that something _wasn't_ right.

But accusing the boy of lying… Horatio couldn't do that. Because confrontation, as his fight with Yelina was proof of, wasn't his strong suit either.

Well, that wasn't exactly true, he conceded, spooning a bite of spinach into his mouth. He _could_ be confrontational and damn good at it. But only in a procedural setting – or, you know, anytime he was _near_ Stetler – did it feel appropriate and natural.

Being that way with family members was different.

Because that was a constant reminder of his _own_ father and the never ending tension and fighting that was inherent in Horatio's relationship with him. And the redhead realized then… he'd never _really_ learned how to approach someone on a personal level.

But at the same time, he supposed it didn't really matter now. As long as Kyle continued to act this way, nothing could be said.

Nothing could be fixed; everything was just _good. _

And until one of them acknowledged that something was wrong, everything would continue to be _good._

That thought, which refused to leave his mind, pushed Horatio over the edge. Forgetting the amount of time it had taken for him to cook their dinner, he shoved his plate aside, having completely lost his appetite.

* * *

His stomach ache completely forgotten, Ray Junior thought the only thing left to decide was who he was pissed at the most. Rolling over on his bed, he realized it was gonna be a tough call to make. Horatio, this Kyle kid, and his own _mother_ – they'd all done some pretty unforgivable things, and it would be hard to decide, he thought.

Or not.

The more he contemplated who was really at fault, the more clear it became: this was _damn_ simple.

None of this would have happened if that stupid kid didn't exist.

It was _all_ his fault. Every bad thing that had happened lately could be traced back to this idiot.

And maybe Ray could deal with that if this Kyle loser kept his problems to his own part of the family. If he'd only messed around with Horatio, then _maybe_ Ray Junior could have accepted it. But now this asshole was getting Ray's mother to do stuff for him, and _that_ was unacceptable.

If he hadn't wanted revenge before, Ray was absolutely certain he would have wanted it now.

Exhaling loudly, the teenager supposed the only thing left to do now was figure out just _how_ to get revenge.

It would have to be something that would really _hurt._ Barging into an already volatile family warranted something a little worse than your average prank. Whoopie cushions, hand in the warm water trick – those were out. Because those would be embarrassing, and Ray needed this _newbie_ to know he wasn't wanted.

But what exactly could he do?

It was hard finding a good answer to the question. Even though Ray had read parts of Kyle's file, that didn't give him much to go on. And in order for it to _really_ hurt, he would need to know more about the kid.

Right now, all he had learned was that Kyle's mother had dated Ray's father. And what good was that? It was juicy, sure, but the only people who would be hurt were – no, scratch that. The only one hurt by that had to be his _mother_, Ray figured. Cause Horatio might care, but the teenager was sure his uncle had dealt with that drama a while back.

The newb wouldn't care, because why would he? Kyle wouldn't give two squirts of duck shit about what Julia Alvarez had done with a man he'd never met.

And Ray cared, only insofar as it made him want to beat the hell out of Horatio. His uncle had always acted like dating Ray's mother was a crime against humanity. And that was fine on its own, but now that they all knew Horatio had screwed around with this other chick, who had dated Ray's father?

_That_ was just too much.

But at the same time… how mad could the teenager really be about it? It sucked, but what would _really_ suck was if his mother and uncle had fallen in love and then this happened. If they were dating and living together – or married – then that would have meant Kyle living _here. _

The idea alone made what they were going through now seem perfect by comparison.

So there was nothing in the file to use, Ray told himself, shaking off the disturbing image of Horatio and Kyle living with _him._

Well, he decided. He would just need more information. And he knew exactly who to ask.

Getting out of bed, the teenager returned to the living room where his mother sat reading. She looked up at him cautiously.

If he were a good boy, he would apologize to her for storming out earlier. But then he thought sarcastically that that might set a bad example. God forbid she expect that every single time he got pissed. So he said, "I can't believe you saw them today." He tried hard to keep the anger out of his voice, lest she catch on.

"I didn't plan on it, Ray. It just… happened," she explained, confusion and annoyance mingling in the accented tones.

He nodded his head as he sat down. In the back of mind, he thought that it wasn't really much of an excuse. But he also knew that if he wanted her to chat with him, then he couldn't get angry again.

Sitting next to her quietly, Ray waited a few minutes before asking, "And?"

She shrugged, setting her book aside again. "Everything turned out fine… well, Horatio got custody," she told him.

The question that popped into the teenager's head next wasn't one that he planned on asking. And the chances of it being relevant to his ultimate goal were slim to none. But he couldn't help but ask, "Did Horatio seem happy about that?"

His mother's eyes darkened slightly for reasons Ray didn't understand. "I don't know" was her eventual answer.

"What do you mean?"

She shook her head and ran her tongue along the inside of her mouth. "Your uncle seemed… confused." Shrugging once more, she added simply, "He's been through a lot these past few days."

"And we _haven't_?" Ray snapped back before he could stop himself. Her answer was to raise an eyebrow at him, silently daring him to accuse her of believing that.

Once again, he felt a need – well, that was the wrong word. He didn't feel the need to apologize, but the teenager _did_ recognize that, if he wanted to, now would be a good time to do it. "And… Kyle?"

"I… would imagine he's pleased." Her wording was carefully, consciously chosen.

"You don't know?"

Something in her voice sounded so far away, like she was thinking of something else entirely when she spoke again. "I didn't see him after it became clear he was staying with Horatio."

This was _so_ frustrating, Ray thought to himself in that moment. She was answering his questions… honestly it seemed. But _nothing_ she was telling him would actually help in his quest to kick that stupid kid's ass. Which meant he would have to press her for more, and that… might be difficult.

Leaning back on the couch, Ray asked quietly, "So… what's he like?"

"Who?"

He rolled his eyes and then decided it might be a good idea to get as close to her as possible so she couldn't see his face. Scooting over, Ray rested his head on her shoulder. That way she'd have a hard time seeing him, and it was really smart, he thought, because she was _always_ a sucker for contact. "Kyle."

Leaning against her, the teenager could feel his mother bristle at the question. "Why… do you ask?"

He shrugged purposely. "Just want to know what he's like." But the tension in his mother didn't subside at his words. If anything, she seemed to stiffen _more._

Still, she answered, "He's quiet. Mostly anyway."

Great.

That didn't help him at all, he thought, rolling his eyes. "That's it?" he asked.

At that moment, his mother unsuccessfully tried to crane her head downwards to look into his eyes. "Why the sudden curiosity?"

The "I don't know" he offered was evasive.

"_Raymond_," she warned.

Innocently, Ray asked, "What?"

"Do _not_ do something –"

"What do you think I'm gonna do?" he asked, offended at her innuendo… even if it was _true._

"Hopefully nothing stupid." Though she didn't say it, it seemed pretty obvious to the teenager that what she meant was "hopefully you won't do something stupid, but I don't trust you to be smart."

And the complete lack of faith _pissed him off_.

Screw it, he thought to himself. He didn't need her help.

Angrily standing up, Ray snapped, "What the hell – I can't ask a _question_?"

She stood up as well. "You _can_. I'm just worried you will –"

"Don't," he nearly yelled. Breathing harshly, Ray took a moment to find the words he wanted to say; he wanted more information, but he was too angry to think straight. So he told her, "You know what? Just… _never mind._ I _thought_ I had a right to know about this random person, but _obviously_ you're not the right person to talk to. So _never mind._"

He started to stalk back towards his room when she sharply warned him, "I will be _very_ disappointed in you if you hurt him."

Slamming his door shut, Ray felt her words sink into his skin and mix with his blood. Making their way to his heart, what she'd said began to strangle him with fear, with _realization._

She _liked _this kid.

She _cared _about him.

And though he hadn't thought it possible, _that_ hurt more than losing his uncle to Kyle.

Which just made Ray all the more determined to get this kid out of their lives.

His mother would be "disappointed." But he didn't care.

Sitting down to his computer, Ray pulled up his internet browser and went to Google. Typing Kyle's name into the search engine, the teenager could only hope that he'd be able to find the silver bullet all on his own…

* * *

While Horatio did the dishes, Kyle slipped into the bathroom located near his bedroom. Naturally, there was one closer to the kitchen, but… the teenager could feel his dinner coming back up, and he didn't need an audience for it. Nor did he want the redhead to know just how sick the food had made him feel. Shutting the bathroom door behind him, the blond made sure to turn the lock.

Quickly his fingers flicked on the light and fan in the tiny area. And even faster than that, Kyle sunk to his knees in front of the toilet.

It had been years since he'd felt this sick, so long that he'd actually forgotten how much it hurt to feel his stomach tighten and turn and clench. His knuckles turned white as he clung to the porcelain rim, praying desperately for each wave of nausea to pass.

But his pleas were not enough to stop the tide. And when the dam broke, Kyle couldn't stop himself from retching. The acrid taste of partially digested dinner filled his mouth momentarily before forcing its way out. His palms and forehead sweaty, by the time his stomach finished churning, his abdominal muscles were sore from the stress.

After flushing the toilet, Kyle rocked backwards onto his heels, slumping against the bathtub behind him. As he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, the teenager had to admit: it probably would have been easier to tell Horatio that he didn't like veal.

Or not, he told himself, as he stood up on shaky legs. Throwing up sucked, and he had no intention of doing it again. But… having a conversation with Horatio about this sort of thing just didn't sound all that less painful. Because what if the redhead hadn't cared? What if he'd been forced to sit through the meal anyway? What if that was what set Horatio off and made him realize that he didn't want to take care of Kyle anymore?

Being sick, he decided, wasn't all that fun. But in the end, it was _still_ easier than the alternatives. And also, Kyle couldn't help but think that maybe it wasn't the food at all. He'd been feeling ill at ease all day, and maybe eating the corpse of a baby cow had just pushed him over the edge.

Mechanically, he stopped in front of the sink and began to brush his teeth. As he scrubbed away at the bitter taste in his mouth, Kyle happened to glance at his reflection in the small mirror.

Though it had only been a few days since all of this began, Kyle thought he looked incredibly different. His eyes were light brown, almost an amber color. But he looked exhausted and defeated, and he could only imagine what someone else gazing at him would think.

Spitting out the toothpaste, Kyle recalled everything that had happened: his arrest, jail, Horatio, Yelina, social services, hamburgers, Mello Yello, and veal. It had been just one thing right after another, an avalanche of awkward moments and screwy twists in his life.

And crawling into his bed minutes later, the teenager couldn't help but wonder just how much more he could take.

_End (46/??)_


	47. Chapter 46: A Test

Author's Note: Thanks to Olly, my beta, for all of her help. Please read and review.

_Disclaimer: I don't own the show._

**No Other One  
****Chapter Forty-Six: A Test  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_I thoroughly disapprove of duels. If a man should challenge me, I would take him kindly and forgivingly by the hand and lead him to a quiet place and kill him." – Mark Twain_

Though the weekend had progressed uneventfully, Yelina couldn't help but still feel as though Ray Junior was up to something. True, he hadn't said anything about it since Friday evening; he hadn't come to her and asked about Kyle again. The new family member's name hadn't been spoken at all in the following two days.

But all of that had somehow only served to heighten Yelina's suspicion. Because if Ray Junior wasn't plotting, wasn't up to something at all, then he would have continued to press her for information.

The mother was more than aware of how… odd that sounded. Any logical person would probably say that, if her son wasn't talking about it, he had dropped the matter all together. And for many people, Yelina was sure they'd be right.

But none of them knew her son. None of them had the experience of walking in on Ray Junior rooting through her closet for Christmas presents only hours after professing that he didn't really care.

She, however, _did_ have that memory (it had happened this past Christmas) and knew: when her son was silent, he was doing something bad. And she would have to keep watching him to make sure her family's life didn't end up in the same condition (rumpled or destroyed) her clothes had when they'd gotten in Ray's way during his gift hunt.

At the moment though, that problem was only one of many.

Having been called in by Stetler on Monday morning, Yelina was currently more worried about the "problem" with her employment that he'd mentioned. At the time, Rick had been unsurprisingly vague, probably in an attempt to make her nervous; after all, if this _problem_ had been one that meant she was fired, he would have just told her that outright.

But standing in front of him now, Yelina almost wished he _had_ fired her. Because there was an evil glint in his dark eyes when he said, "There's a problem with your application."

"So you've said" was her dry response.

"_Before_ I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt," Stetler said, the irritation he felt obvious in his voice.

She pursed her lips before asking, "Was that before or after you decided to use my _job_ interview to learn whether or not I had sex with my husband?"

Though he smirked, he didn't answer her question. "But given your… recent actions, I think it's pretty clear that your _judgment_ can't be trusted."

"How ironic," Yelina quipped, a smile playing on her full lips. "I was thinking that _not_ dating you again would have shown _improvement_ in that area."

His eyes darkened in response, the irises turning a blackish color that matched his pupils. Stetler's jaw clenched and unclenched, and he cocked his head to tell her, "You're gonna need to pass a series of tests in order to be reinstated fully. Physical fitness, written test, exam with the gun range."

Seeing the challenge for what it was, she placed one hand on her hip. Her eyes narrowing on him, she drawled slowly, "Not a problem."

"One last thing, Yelina." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the urine specimen cup. "Drug test."

Really, she should have figured he would save _that_ for last. If anything, the brunette was surprised she hadn't seen it coming. But rolling her eyes, she went to grab the cup. Naturally though he pulled it out of her grasp. "Down, girl," he patronized. "It's not that simple."

But Yelina thought it was _incredibly_ simple: Stetler was an ass. Still, she said nothing and waited for him to speak.

"Now that I can't trust you –"

"Why? Because I spoke to my brother-in-law?"

Stuffing the cup back in his pocket, he retorted, "No. Because I see now that you really _don't_ know what's good for you, and that makes me wonder. If you can't 'just say no' to Horatio, then how can say it when someone, say your druggie husband, offers you a hit on the old bong or crack pipe?"

Yelina bit down on the inside of her mouth until she thought she might draw blood. She had never forgotten how _mean_ he could be, but for the life of her, she hadn't remembered just how _cruel_ his words could be.

The things he was saying right now – they went beyond his normal unfriendly, unkind ways. He was going way passed what was acceptable, way beyond what he would say to anyone else, and bringing her husband's problems into this. So angry with her, Stetler was resorting to tearing at her wounds with rusty spikes.

And she could forgive him for a lot, but she would _never_ be able to do that for _this._ He had gone too far, and worst of all was the fact that there was no doubt in her mind that he _knew_ what he was doing.

Yelina wanted to tell him that – that he knew better – just as much as she wanted to lash out and strangle him. But calmly, her voice like steel, she told him, "I said no to _you._"

"Not until after you toyed with me for two days," Stetler snapped back. And then more conversationally he added, "So I have to wonder what else you like to dabble in?"

"Then give me the damn cup," she ordered, her accent thick and her words firm.

"There's a catch," he told her. "You ever spend time in an independent lab? They do a lot of things," he explained. "But one of their main customers is the state – testing drug addicts on parole." Taking the cup out of his pocket, Stetler turned it in his hands for dramatic effect. "They make sure a person goes into the bathroom _with_ the addict, just so they know the urine they test comes from that addict."

Connecting the dots together, Yelina asked dryly, "You want to watch? Afraid I carry about bags of other people's urine for this very purpose?"

"Hope you properly hydrated yourself this morning" was his response, was his way of saying yes.

There were no words to describe how much she wanted to kill him at this moment. Murderous, livid, enraged – they all seemed too tame for the way her body _thrummed_ with the desire to hurt him.

But underneath all of that, a _very_ small part of her – the one that still contained a shred of reasoning – knew that was what he wanted.

Stetler wanted the reaction from her, wanted her ire. Because that would mean he'd _gotten _to her. And if he'd seen what he wanted, he would either fire her _now_ or file away the event for later to use against her when she least expected it.

Neither was what she wanted, but particularly the latter scared her. Because if he saved this conversation in his memory, then he would hurt her whenever he saw fit to do so. And frankly, she'd rather suffer now if she _had_ to.

And her stubbornness taking hold of her, Yelina realized that she didn't _have_ to suffer through this. Or maybe she did, but there was no reason she couldn't make him just as miserable.

Deciding that was her best option, she quickly deduced that playing along would be the best thing to do. Not only because it would be the best way to keep her job, but also…

Yelina was _not_ going to give him what he wanted.

Ever.

Shrugging dramatically, she gave him the unexpected response of "Lets go then."

There was a look of shock on his face momentarily, before he put his arm around her elbow. As they headed towards the private bathroom not five feet away in his office, Stetler asked, "Sure you can handle it, Princess?"

Her hand on the doorknob, she raised an eyebrow. "I'll be fine," she told him. And as an afterthought, Yelina added, "After all, I slept with you, which really does have to be the most degrading thing I could ever do."

His response was to shove her into the bathroom. And had she not expected the outburst of anger, she would have fallen. But as it was, she barely teetered on her heels at all. "I'm going to enjoy this," Stetler said, leering at her, as he closed the bathroom door behind him.

It dawned on her that she was trapped, that… he could hurt her if he wanted to. And Yelina was aware that _maybe_ she should be frightened; perhaps she should be clawing at his face for a way out.

But something inside of her – adrenaline, her own anger, stubbornness, or maybe something else all together – steeled her against any feeling of fear. Standing in front of Stetler, she was not worried, not fearful at all.

Her voice strong and cool, she placed her hands on her hips and told him, "I don't think so."

"Chickening out?" he asked, scoffing.

"Hardly," Yelina drawled, taking a step closer to him. In a falsely sweet and completely patronizing tone, she told him, "But once again, darling, you've yet to think your little plan all the way through."

"I have too," he argued petulantly.

"Really? What do you expect to happen here, Rick?" Taking the specimen cup out of his hands, the brunette continued, "Do you think I'll suddenly start _behaving_ like a good little girl?" She smirked. "You know me better than that. Do you _really_ believe I'll do this for you, and that'll be it?"

"I'm _really_ scared, Ellie" was his sarcastic reply. "What do you think you're gonna do to me?"

"I don't know," she said with a shrug. "Of course, a _smarter_ man might have realized taking me to the gun range _after_ this display of machismo was a disaster waiting to happen."

Smirking, he asked, "You gonna shoot me with the blanks they make you use?"

Thinking quickly on her feet, Yelina replied, "Well, it's either that or you have the unfortunate luck of ramming your skull into the gun several times."

Literally waving her off, Stetler told her, "You'd be arrested for murdering me."

"In this police department?" she asked. Smiling, Yelina continued, "I don't think so. For killing you, they'd give me a _medal_. And you know I'm right." The fact that he didn't have an immediate retort only bolstered that belief, so she asked him, "So. If you want me to take this test, fine. But you should know that I will _not_ –"

"Then we won't go to the gun range," he snapped.

Shaking her head, she asked him, "You think I can't find some other way?"

They fell into a short silence then. And standing together in the bathroom all alone, Yelina couldn't help but think how… _bizarre_ and _stupid_ this was. That things should so quickly deteriorate into death threats and humiliation was quite frankly sad and yet completely natural when it came to them as a pairing.

And maybe Stetler was thinking the same thing, because he nodded his head then slowly. "_Fine_," he told her, opening the bathroom door again.

Tossing the specimen cup into the trashcan, Yelina stepped outside into the brighter area of his office. Sighing as quietly as she could, she couldn't help but feel relieved and somehow… pleased at winning this part (for there was sure to be more) of the argument. Not merely because she Stetler had _lost_, not just because it meant she still had her job, she understood. Those things were important, but they were not the sole reason for her burgeoning sense of joy.

Rather, as odd as it sounded, it was the knowledge of knowing that she'd been able to solve a problem. That there were still some things she could control and not be forced to accept was… _nice_ and unfortunately so uncommon in her life these days.

Though it was obvious Stetler had not intended to make her feel better, bizarrely… in his own way, he _had._ And she was not surprised by the confused face he made, when she turned, smiling, and asked, "What's next?"

_End (47/??)_


	48. Chapter 47: Opportunities

Author's Notes: I'll keep it brief – thanks to my beta for all of her dedication and hard work.

Once again, I ask that people review after reading, please.

_Disclaimer: I don't own the show. Promise. _

**No Other One  
****Chapter Forty-Seven: Opportunities  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_I will prepare and some day my chance will come." – Abraham Lincoln_

His fingernails scratched at the back of his hand, Kyle's mind wandering even though he knew it shouldn't. Sitting in the principal's office at the school he would be going to, the teenager understood that this was _important._ Well, to Horatio anyway if not to Kyle himself.

It wasn't that the blond couldn't understand why someone would say that education was a good thing. He could, but the thing was… what good would any of it do him? Kyle wasn't so self-involved that he couldn't see the ridiculousness and painful circumstances of his own life. Death, crime, a father popping up randomly – it all only added up to one of two endings. Either he would rise above it all, become a billionaire (in which case, his education probably _was _needed). Or he would do something stupid and end up in prison in the next two or three years and never stay out for more than a month for the rest of his life.

And given the way things were going…

Kyle knew he would be the second case.

As Horatio and the principal droned on in conversation, the teenager thought it was odd to be able to admit that to himself; people weren't supposed to think, "You know, I think I'm destined to fail." But after everything he'd been through… Kyle couldn't see himself ever rising above all of it.

No matter what, there'd always be something to drag him down.

He wasn't sure at what point over the weekend he'd decided this. Oh, he'd thought of it many times – that he was destined to screw up and fail. But somehow… the past two days had cemented it in his mind, and Kyle couldn't find it in himself to deny it any longer.

Maybe it had been the way Horatio and he still failed to connect in any real way. Actually, thinking about it now, the teenager was sure that was _exactly_ what had brought him to this realization. Because… it was one thing for others to see him as a failure, quite another for the person who was his… _father_ to see the same thing.

Horatio hadn't actually _said_ those words, of course. But Kyle couldn't help but believe the redhead thought it. Why else would it be _so difficult_ for them to connect? Why else would Horatio spend the majority of his weekend holed up in his study?

There just didn't seem to be any other reason.

Looking down at the hand he'd been scratching now, Kyle was surprised to see how red he'd made it. And though the temptation to keep digging away with his fingernails was still there, the teenager forced himself not to. The last thing he wanted to do was start bleeding all over the place.

Sighing internally, Kyle turned his attention back to what was happening around him. The principal, a sickly thin man with spiky black hair, had spent the last hour asking them both all sorts of questions, most serving only to amplify the distance between father and son. Social security numbers, schooling, etc. – if Horatio had learned those tidbits to convince Bennett to sign off on custody, he'd obviously forgotten it by now. Or at least gotten slower in remembering, because it seemed like every question resulted in either a mistake or a good amount of time for Horatio to remember the right answer.

And after he'd screwed up for the fourth time, the principal had decided to interrupt. The man straightening his hot pink and orange tie said, "I'm sorry to be rude, but either you have the worst memory I've seen in a long time. Or you're not really Kyle's father and -"

Of course with an accusation like that, Horatio had had to interrupt and explain the screwed up story that was their branch of the family tree.

And it had been around that point that Kyle had stopped listening. If there was one thing he'd rather not think about anymore, it was everything related to _this_.

But tuning back in now, Kyle was relieved to hear them talking about something else. Actually, the way they were in deep conversation about the school and the curriculum, the teenager had to wonder just how long they'd been chatting about that. And the thought crossed his mind that perhaps he should have paid attention, but then again, he didn't really care.

Because it wasn't like he was gonna become a doctor or a lawyer or anything else that mattered, he thought sadly. After all, the most natural thing a person could be was a son or daughter to their parents, and… he couldn't even do that.

"We're a public school, but we expect a lot from our students," the principal explained. "We have a community service requirement. Before he graduates, Kyle will have to complete a hundred hours of –"

"That… will not be a problem," Horatio drawled out in his annoying way. Was it really so hard to just say it all in one breath? _Seriously_, Kyle thought. Why not just spit it out and say, "My delinquent son will be doing that anyway, so no problem."

Shifting in his chair, the teenager listened some more. "Good," the principal said with a nod. "We also realize the need for our students to be multi-lingual in this day and age. Every student is required to learn two foreign languages. Given that this is Miami, one, of course, will be Spanish."

Though he didn't let on, Kyle could not have been more displeased with _that_. Words… weren't his thing. In any and all languages. He didn't know the difference between "then" and "than," and spelling punctuation was a difficult task alone; there was no way he was gonna be able to know what the hell to do with a semi-colon. And if his English, despite being his first language, was bad, that was nothing compared to the way the teenager butchered his Spanish.

Well, that wasn't exactly true. He could curse in Spanish and probably ask someone if their sister was eighteen, but that didn't exactly make him fluent.

And though Horatio simply nodded his head in agreement, Kyle couldn't help but think that he was _screwed_. This school was clearly not for him – not when it had all these crazy requirements; there was just _no way_ the teenager could maintain the GPA stipulated his deal.

But... maybe that was the point?

The teenager didn't even want to think it, but it was too hard not to. The idea running through his mind seemed more and more right the more he pondered it. Horatio and he had been avoiding one another all weekend, unable to connect or talk or _deal_ with one another. And maybe the redhead had just had enough.

Maybe Horatio had changed his mind.

And if he'd done that, then this was the perfect way to get rid of him. By sending him to this school, Horatio would ensure Kyle would fail and be sent to prison. And best of all, all of the blame would fall on the teen's shoulders, not Horatio's.

By the end of next week, Kyle could be in jail, and the redhead could come out looking like the hero, the father who had tried to save his son but ultimately failed.

Even to himself, it sounded a little insane, but… he didn't doubt it to be true. Because it was exactly the kind of plan a man like Horatio would go for. For the redhead, there was no way to lose here; just as the man liked neatness and order in his home furnishings, so too did he like it in every other aspect of his life. And no matter what happened with this, everything would end up in its proper place.

So… when Kyle screwed up, Horatio could be relieved, much in the same way he probably was when he organized his mail. And if, by some giant miracle, the teen were to do okay, Horatio could take all the credit. And on a lesser note, it would mean Kyle was _meant_ to live with him.

But there was no real chance of that happening, the teenager knew. He just… couldn't rise above this. Which meant he was screwed once more, and now it was just a matter of time.

The thought plagued his mind until the principal's voice cut across once more. "Your records indicate that your son is two years behind in his formal education."

"That's right," Horatio said, nodding his head.

"Normally, we keep children where they have been placed, unless a parent or guardian requests us to offer a placement exam." The principal paused, maybe to let Horatio make such a request (at least Kyle could only assume this was what was going on). But obviously, he thought bitterly, _that_ wasn't gonna happen. So the principal continued, "Given Kyle's… circumstances, we could make such an accommodation. He has no learning disabilities, and if he did well on the test, he'd probably be able to keep up with the course work. Although it would require extra studying, he could –"

"You know," Horatio interrupted. "I… don't think that would be a good idea."

Well, screw you, Kyle thought angrily.

The two men kept talking, but he didn't listen – no longer cared what they were saying. If he'd been in doubt over how much Horatio _didn't_ like him, _this_ left no doubt.

Thanks for the vote of confidence, asshole, Kyle yelled in his mind, his eyes glaring at Horatio.

And though other, very real words filled the room, all the teenager could hear was that he'd never be good enough or smart enough to be Horatio's son.

_He_ just wasn't ever gonna be enough.

* * *

The cigarette soft and velvety, like old newspaper pages, between his fingers smoldered as Ray Junior explained, "Look, man, I couldn't come over."

"Yeah," his friend, Todd, said irritably. "Well, I'm sorry your mom is a bitch, but you had the _game_. How are we gonna win this damn contest if you get sidetracked every _five_ minutes by your family?" Angrily, the boy snatched the cigarette, not caring that the ash fell and burned Ray. Taking a long pull, he glared at Ray, waiting for an answer.

And in all honesty, Ray Junior _wanted _to tell his best friend that that wasn't true. Really, nobody wanted to think his family was normal more than he did. But… seeing as how this was neither the first make out session, nor the first smoke break to be interrupted with this topic, he couldn't. In fact, part of him completely agreed.

Sighing, he conceded. "All right. I'm sorry. Happy?" he asked with a sigh. Throwing his hands in the air, Ray told Todd, "Next time, I'll handle it like any other maladjusted teen would. I'll -"

"Dismember your mother in the bathtub and get back to work instead of whining like a little bitch?" the other boy snapped seriously.

Ray Junior's eyes darkened, narrowing on his friend. He hated when they fought like this, because somehow… it always meant he had to defend his own mother. And he _really_ didn't want to do that.

True, by now he should have accepted that his mother and Todd didn't like one another. Actually, they completely hated one another, and he should have just learned to stay out of it and let his friend fight his own battle.

And yet… just as he was about to tell Todd not to say stuff like that, the teenager remembered how _annoying_ his mom had been all weekend long. Convinced that he was up to something, despite having _no proof_, she'd watched him like a hawk. And the worst about that was… no amount of laying low had made her less suspicious. _Nothing_ he'd tried or avoided doing had made any difference, and it _sucked._

The fact that he really was up to something… was completely and totally beside the point. Being a parent meant you were supposed to like… give your kid the benefit of the doubt or something. Whatever happened to things like "unconditional love" and "innocent until proven guilt" and all that junk?

That question still in mind, Ray nodded his head. "Exactly." Glancing down at his watch, he noticed then that five minutes had passed. And that meant, according to the lame ass school policy, a student would be sent in to bring them back to class. "Hey," he said loudly. "We should go before they send in the SWAT team."

Todd nodded his head, flushing the cigarette in a nearby urinal. As they got ready to leave, the teen asked suddenly, "Ya think they ever walked in on someone taking a giant dump?" He opened the door and continued talking, "Cause five minutes… that's gotta be cutting it close if you ate the school's fish sticks."

Ray was about to mutter his agreement when his eye caught sight of something to his right. He blinked, making sure that he wasn't imagining it. But upon a second look, he knew it was _them_.

Well, maybe it wasn't Kyle, but there was no doubt that the man walking down the hallway in the opposite direction with the blond teenager was _Horatio_. That stupid red hair was bright enough and freakish enough to be spotted anywhere.

And Ray doubted his uncle was on a case; the man was dressed too casual (well, casual for Horatio) for that.

"Ray?" Todd asked in confusion.

The brunet shushed him into silence. Watching his uncle and… _cousin_ was too important to let the moment be ruined by his friend's giant mouth. And looking at them, he couldn't help but want to soak up each and every nanosecond so he could scour them for clues later. His eyes starting at them intently, Ray couldn't stop himself.

He didn't want to miss class – well, he _did_, but he didn't want to get in trouble. But a detention was okay by him, cause _this_ was way more important. His brown irises coming to rest on a folder in Horatio's hands, it looked like the same orientation info his mother had gotten (but which Ray had never read… obviously).

And the reality hit him hard and quickly: Kyle was going to go to school _here_.

Part of him was absolutely _furious_ at the development.

This was _his _school and _his_ family, and there wasn't room for anyone else!

But through his anger, another part of him saw this new prospect for what it was: an opportunity.

He smiled then and for the rest of the day. His plan was ready – foolproof even. All he needed now… was to get Kyle alone.

_End (48/??)_


	49. Chapter 48: Of Success and Failure

Author's Notes: Thanks to **carrusel** and **RedHotLover **for the review. Lastly, but definitely not least, a big thank you to my beta, Olly, for all of her help. Remember to read and review, please.

_Disclaimer: The show isn't mine. No copyright infringement is intended. _

**No Other One  
****Chapter Forty-Eight: Of Success and Failure  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_Races are run  
__Some people win  
Some people always have to lose." – Stevie Nicks_

There were many, many things Yelina hated about Stetler. But until now, that had never included his love for running. Really, in all the time they had dated, the brunette had actually appreciated the hobby. Not only had it given her the impetus to work out more, but also… there had been plenty of times when Rick hadn't been wanted around the house, and running had given him something to do. But more than anything, Yelina had loved the way the exercise had contoured his body, had made him –

No.

No, no, no, _no_, she told herself, taking a long stride as she ran. She would _not_ think about how _attractive_ her current tormentor was or had been when they were dating. Because that was too much, too _nice_, and Yelina knew she'd only make it through this last mile if her anger kept her fueled.

Earlier in the day, she'd past her gun test, making sure to inform Stetler that she'd envisioned his head to help her aim. "Good," he'd told her at the time. "Cause I usually think of _you_ when I come here."

Her response had been "Wonderful. It's nice to know that we're finally on the same page." But at the time, Yelina had known he didn't really feel that way. Well, maybe in that particular _moment_ he did, but… if he hadn't still wanted her, her decision to see Horatio wouldn't have upset him.

Of course, right now, Yelina couldn't be sure _what_ was motivating her jogging companion. Whether this was punishment or outright hatred, she didn't know. And frankly, she didn't care, because it all amounted to the same thing.

"We're gonna run twelve laps," Stetler had told her happily.

But, having seen a sign that explained how long the track was, she had known that this was going to be no small feat. "That's six miles," she'd said unenthused.

He'd smiled. "I know. And if you don't complete it with me, you're _done_."

A part of her had wanted to kill him – still did even. And another piece, one that was less homicidal, had wanted to complain about how _stupid_ this was. Because, she _knew_, no one had ever been in a situation that required them to run for six miles straight. If there were such instances, then nobody would have gotten fat on the force. Which certainly wasn't the case. _Everyone_ she'd known had gained weight since joining the MDPD. No one, not even herself, had been exempt from the ten or fifteen pounds that came department issue along with their badges.

Truth be told, if they'd actually _had_ to run six miles at any time, they might not have put on the weight. But as it were, Yelina hadn't been able to stop herself from thinking that this particular test of Stetler's was arbitrary and completely pointless.

Instead of arguing, though, she'd nodded her head in agreement. Because, knowing him, she'd understood that there was no point in trying to get him to back off. No matter what she said or did, he would make her run the six miles. And if she complained, he was big enough an ass to make her run _more_. Which was nothing compared to the idea that complaining would mean he would_ know_ she didn't want to do it.

So she'd kept her mouth shut, and they'd started at nearly a sprint.

But now almost five miles later, their pace was slowing, and Yelina wished she'd given into temptation and killed him long ago.

Not that she couldn't do this.

She could.

She _would_.

But her breathing was heavy and shaky, her lungs feeling as though they were on fire. And her muscles had started to burn as well, as did her skin under the heat of the Miami afternoon sun. Yelina's body was covered in a thin patina of sweat, and though she couldn't see it, she could feel her curls becoming knotted in the loose bun she'd trapped the strands in. And at this point, each step seemed to echo with the sound of her heartbeat in her ears.

Which wasn't to say she was doing _badly_, because really, for a woman who exercised maybe once a month, she was doing well. Or, at least, she was able to keep up with Rick, who, for all of his talk and daily exercise, didn't look much better than she did.

As if hearing her thoughts, then, he looked over at her and spoke up. "I'm slow, because I already did this once today."

Once again, temptation struck her, as she wanted to inform him that there was absolutely no reason that they _had_ to do this. But also once more, she realized there was no point in complaining; it wouldn't help.

Remaining silent until they passed the starting mark, Yelina waited until she felt she could run, talk, and breathe to speak. "You could have just made me do this on my own."

"I like to run," he said with a shrug.

She exhaled loudly. "I'm surprised you didn't follow me, because you were afraid I'd cheat."

Irritation lacing every word, he told her, "Well, if I thought a person_ could_ cheat on this, then I would have _definitely_ expected it from you." He took a deep breath before finishing, "But since you _can't_, that's not the reason."

Falling silent, Yelina focused the task on hand. But _God_, she could hate him so much sometimes, she thought, as she took her next step. And with that in mind, her gait widened, her pace picking up.

The last lap seemed to fly by quicker now, her desire to get away from Stetler pushing her to go faster and harder. And though he was only a few feet behind her, there was something incredibly satisfying in rushing past the finish line before he did.

Of course, Rick didn't think so, the scowl on his face saying everything he wouldn't. But she let it go, instead grabbing one of the water bottles they'd set on the bench before starting. She took a long, satisfying drink before asking, "What time do you want me to come in? Or do you have any other pointless tests you want me to take?"

Stetler sneered at her as he dumped some water over his head. "Nine tomorrow," he told her. And then switching subjects, he asked, "You realize all of this could have been avoided if you'd refused to do everything Horatio asked you to do?"

Immediately, Yelina could feel her blood begin to boil. As tired as she was, as hot as she was, part of her was ready for a fight. Because in her heart, she knew that none of what had happened today was _really_ Horatio's fault. She'd done what the redhead had wanted, but in the end, it was _Stetler_ who had made her do all of these dumb things – not her brother-in-law. Through gritted teeth, she explained, "He asked for my help. I gave it to him. It was the right thing to do, which I get is difficult for a man like you to understand."

Using the bottom of his t-shirt to wipe the water and sweat off of his face, Rick looked at her then. "I'm not a bad person," he argued. "Just because I don't –"

"I helped him, and I'm not going to apologize for that," she told him then stubbornly. "And you can play this little game with me all you want," she nearly snarled back. "But I'm _never_ going to change my mind about that."

"Of course not," he snapped. "Yelina Salas knows everything." He literally through his hands up in the air before taking a long swig from his water bottle. More calmly, he finished the thought. "You're so self-destructive and arrogant, you'd rather suffer than admit that someone else might be right."

Raising her chin defiantly, Yelina fought back. "The only _suffering_ I'm currently going through is the kind that I'm experiencing at _your_ hands. I'm not self-destructive –"

"Your sunburn says otherwise," he interrupted, using a finger to point at her face and shoulders. "And if Horatio's patterns hold true, you'll be crying to me about how right I was soon enough."

She was about to argue some more with him, but he stopped the fight before it even began. Instead of participating in the back and forth, he emptied his water bottle and began to walk away. "See you at nine," he called over his shoulder.

As his figure got smaller and smaller, Yelina considered chasing after him and… killing him. The image of a bruised and bloody Stetler was a heady one, one that was too enticing to immediately dismiss.

But frankly, after running six miles, she was just too tired.

With a sigh, she threw her empty water bottle away in a nearby trashcan and went home. Exhausted and achy, she, despite _knowing_ he'd said those things to hurt her, couldn't help but wonder…

Maybe Stetler was right.

Maybe she _was_ that self-destructive and arrogant.

And if that were the case, it was impossible to say where she might end up.

* * *

There were many things he could do well – fish, collect evidence, coax a confession out of a criminal. And there were many complicated ideas that Horatio could understand – fusion, Einstein's Theory of Relativity, his sister-in-law (well, for the most part, anyway).

But today had served only to prove one thing: he didn't understand everything, and he definitely couldn't do all of it well. And falling right into the heart of that category was his son, was his ability to parent.

Horatio knew how to be a good CSI but _not_ a good father; Kyle might have been his son, but it honestly felt as though they were different species. For all of the bonding they _hadn't_ done, the redhead thought that they might as well be from different planets.

Because it _really_ felt as though they weren't even speaking the same language. He could ask Kyle questions or make small talk, and he'd get a response, but… nothing was ever really being said or learned.

And it wasn't that Horatio wasn't trying. God, he _was_, trying so hard to make some sort of connection with the boy. At this point, it was _all_ he wanted – to have at least… a friendship with him if not anything approaching a normal father/son relationship.

He _was_ trying, he told himself. But each attempt, which he'd carefully crafted in his study over the weekend, had failed so far. For all of his trying, it hadn't made a difference. Here, he'd fought for custody of the boy, bought him all the things a teenager could possibly want, and tried to cook things for him that he would like.

But it still amounted to nothing.

And after today's meeting with Kyle's principal, Horatio couldn't help but think things were _worse_. Once again sitting alone in his study, he looked for the answer as to why things should be so bad. But like always, he came up with no real answer, no solution to his problems.

It was almost funny how hopeless this situation was now. He had naïvely believed when he'd first read the DNA test results that that would be the bottom of the hole he'd dug for himself. He'd thought that, by taking the boy in, things could only get better. But in a few short hours, things had gone from quiet to… well, he didn't even know what this was.

A small part of him whispered in that moment that this was _pointless._ No matter how much effort he put into this, the results were always the same: the two weren't any closer than they were before. And paradoxically, Kyle and he were only minutely further apart, which made it… almost easy to believe that nothing had changed or was wrong.

The past two days Horatio had felt the drift, but it was one of those things that was impossible to prove. And the more rational side of him still wanted to believe that maybe things weren't as bad as he thought they were.

That part of him believed that he was seeing failure where there was none. Which was odd, given that Horatio wasn't a perfectionist – not really; true, he didn't like clutter, and he definitely _did_ like to be right, to do the right things. But the redhead didn't think he was the kind of person to lose sleep over life not going exactly the way he planned.

If he were, he would have never slept.

And yet, Horatio could see how he was acting differently in this. Given the way his own father had treated him, he had always hoped… things could be better with his own son. He had never really _dreamed_ of being a father the same way other parents had felt destined to fulfill that role.

But in the few times when he _had_ considered what he would be like as a father, Horatio had _never_ thought it would be like _this._ And maybe he wasn't terrible at it, but somehow the rational part of him could see – the way Kyle had come into his life was hard to get beyond. Was impossible for him to accept, because the boy should have _never_ spent a single night in foster care, should have _never_ gone so long without a father.

Knowing that he felt that way, the redhead couldn't help but believe that was affecting his own perception of their relationship. He couldn't help but see failure where there might not have been any, because already he'd screwed up.

And now…

The meeting at the high school had set the drift between Horatio and Kyle into overdrive, and he couldn't understand why. Try as he might, the redhead couldn't see where he had gone wrong on this particular day. But obviously… he must have done something horrible.

He'd tried to stave off that feeling of guilt for as long as he could. At first, Horatio had written the silence from his son as… well, the way they normally interacted with one another. Sad as it was, Kyle didn't talk to him all that much, so Horatio had thought initially that the silence in the car was _normal_. Because the teenager had never taken the opportunity to chat away with him.

And knowing that, the redhead rationally understood that… it shouldn't have bothered him; yet, it so clearly _had_ gotten under his skin that Horatio had spent the rest of the drive home wondering what the hell had happened.

It hadn't hit him until much later that Kyle might be upset over being placed in a grade with teenagers two years younger than him. And upon realizing that, Horatio felt like an _idiot_ for not thinking of it sooner. He'd just assumed the teenager would_ want_ to stay where he was, wouldn't want to miss out on any of his education or make this situation any harder to deal with.

But looking back on the conversation at the school, Horatio had finally seen it through his son's eyes. Though it had pained him to admit it, the redhead hadn't been able to ignore the… undercurrent in his own words. He'd denied the test in an attempt to make things easier for the boy, but what Kyle had heard was obviously something else.

That Horatio thought he was stupid.

That Horatio didn't believe in him.

Even now, alone in his study, the redhead could feel the way those ideas made his skin crawl. They were _so_ far from the truth, _so_ beyond what he'd ever wanted Kyle to feel, and there was no denying: Horatio had screwed up so badly that he doubted he'd ever be able to make it right.

And upon initially realizing his mistake, the redhead had sought out Kyle, had wanted to make things right. But that was easier said than done.

The teenager had been working on his laptop when Horatio had entered the room. The blond's uneven, slow typing had come to an abrupt halt, and Kyle had turned to look at Horatio expectantly – as if to say, "What do you want?"

"Hey," Horatio had offered lamely, hoping against all reason and experience that Kyle would start talking.

Which, of course, _hadn't_ happened. The boy had only looked at him with those dark brown eyes, forcing the redhead to keep talking. "I… I wanted…" He had paused, sighed.

Truth be told, he'd had no idea what to say. "Are you – are we…" He'd let out another sigh, this one longer and more dejected sounding than the last. He was _terrible_ with these conversations – at least with Kyle. And totally resigning himself to failure, Horatio had resorted to small talk. With a forced relaxed look on his face, he had asked, "Ready for school tomorrow?"

Saying nothing, Kyle had only nodded his head.

"Good. That's… good." The words, he'd thought at the time, were horribly stilted even to his own ears. "I just wanted… to make sure things were… _okay_ after today."

"They are," the teenager had said with a shrug.

"Good," Horatio had said _again_. "Because… I thought you might be… upset about not getting the opportunity to take that placement exam."

Dryly, Kyle had asked, "Do I look upset?"

And even now, Horatio didn't know whether or not the boy was. As horrible as it was to say that, he… really didn't know. Although Horatio thought he was reading the situation correctly, from that moment, a doubt had begun to niggle in the back of his mind. A lingering shadow, a voice inside of him had begun to whisper that maybe he really was misreading Kyle.

After all, Horatio had _no idea_ who this kid really was.

But… at the time, he'd told Kyle, "Fair enough. I just wanted you to understand – I'm trying to do what's best for you. And I don't think skipping two years of schooling is a wise decision at this point."

To his own mind, Horatio still thought that what he'd said was the best anyone could do. Or if not the _best_, he was absolutely sure there were worse things to tell Kyle.

Somehow though… Horatio was sure the boy didn't agree with him on that.

"It's cool," the teenager had replied, effectively ending the conversation.

But it obviously _wasn't_ cool.

Things were still off, still _wrong_ hours after the fact, and worst of all, Horatio had only the smallest idea of what he'd done wrong. If the problem really were what he'd said in the principal's office, Kyle refused to let on. And if this growing rift between them was about something else, he had no idea what it was, much less how to fix it.

He was completely out of ideas and solutions. Biting down on his lip, Horatio thought that science and law were things he could do with ease. Parenting, on the other hand…

He just had _no_ idea.

Sighing into the silence, he couldn't help but wonder if this were a game he was destined to lose, if _Kyle_, his _son,_ was just one of those things he'd never understand.

_End (49/??)_


	50. Chapter 49: Lessons Learned

Author's Note: Sorry it's taken so long to update, but life happened. Thank you very much to RedHotLover for the continued support and review. I appreciate it more than words can say. Also thanks to my beta, Olly. You make this process so much easier and better for me, thank you.

_Please remember to review after you read._

_Disclaimer: I don't own the show._

**No Other One  
****Chapter Forty-Nine: Lessons Learned  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_Mistakes are a part of being human. Appreciate your mistakes for what they are: precious life lessons that can only be learned the hard way." - Al Franken_

By anyone's standards, this was a bizarre sight.

The normally bland break room had been decorated for her return, immediately bringing a smile to Yelina's face. Bright yellow police tape dangled from the thrumming fluorescent light fixtures. Evidence seals had been arranged on a large banner to say, "Welcome Back, Yelina!" And perhaps playing the role of stripper jumping out of the cake was, ironically, _Frank_.

A bowtie also made of police tape around his neck, he had a Boston Cream donut in his hand. Tiny yellow and orange candles poking holes in the chocolate-frosted top, Yelina couldn't help but think once more that this was bizarre – and absolutely perfect.

His meaty arms throwing themselves around her, Frank said in his gruff tones, "Hey, Mama, how you been?"

In that moment, Yelina hugged him fiercely. His thick gut pressed against her, it surprised her how much she had missed him. In all the time they'd worked together, they'd rarely worked _together_. Their cases had generally diverged, just as their interests and hobbies outside of work had.

But at the same time, he was hardly inconsequential to her. Constantly dotting her Miami landscape, Frank had represented a quintessential part of America that she loved; he was rough and hard, deadpan and straight to the point. More a brother than a friend, he'd always been protective of her, in a way that was so unassuming – unlike the way her brother-in-law seemed to call attention to himself in those times.

"Frank," Yelina said happily, sweetly.

Handing over the donut, he told her, "We woulda lit the candles, but IAB Pansy Ass was afraid we'd start a fire." Said loudly enough so that Stetler, who was standing in the corner, could hear, the words forced an honest, wide smile on her face.

"Probably," Ryan interrupted, looking older and more tired than she remembered him being. "Because he was afraid we'd 'accidentally' set him on fire," he joked.

Of course, there was something in the young CSI's voice that made her think he _wasn't_ kidding. And as Yelina and Ryan kissed one another on the cheek, she wondered what exactly he meant.

That Stetler really was worried about being hurt?

That there were people in this room where contemplating, half-heartedly, such an act?

Of course, given the well-known tension between IAB and everyone else, Yelina didn't doubt that both might have happened.

Pushing the thought aside, she focused on the steady trail of well-wishers. A seemingly never-ending parade of "Welcome back" and "Good to see you" bombarded her. Hugs and the occasional kiss, one right after the other, left her feeling completely overwhelmed. Because at some point, the people she was talking to ceased to be memorable individuals and had congealed into one giant conversation of endless small talk.

Handfuls of unfamiliar faces talking to her, it was rare after Frank and Ryan to see someone she knew. And amidst all of it, Yelina couldn't help but notice who was _not_ there.

Horatio.

Of course, it was impossible to miss that fact, seeing as how people kept bringing it to her attention. The first had been Alexx who casually, regrettably, mentioned that she couldn't stay long; Horatio would need the autopsy reports. And from there, it had gotten worse.

Lab techs she hardly knew – and some she clearly had never met – had said the same thing. Told her they were sorry, but that they had to leave, as though she had demanded they be front and center for her return.

The whole thing leaving a bitter taste in her mouth and a sour expression on her face, it was no surprise that things reached a head when Calleigh approached her.

The blond, giving her a loose hug devoid of any real friendship, explained, "You know, I'm sure _he'd_ be here if he hadn't been called out."

She hadn't mentioned his name, Yelina would realize later. But there was no need to; who else would she have been talking about? "Horatio doesn't need you to protect him, Calleigh," Yelina told her simply.

As soon as the words had been said, she realized that they weren't the nicest. Because, even though there'd been a friendliness to it – a light quality in it – the brunette was sure it sounded colder than she had intended.

But the truth _was_ that _everyone's_ presumption that she cared irritated her. Not only was it silly to assume that it was Horatio's _norm_ to be around, but also… everyone else's concern for her relationship with Horatio was only going to make things worse. Odd as it was, Yelina knew that that was the case.

For herself, she had never cared for the way her relationship (such as it was) with Horatio had become a centerpiece in the office gossip. Whatever her feelings for him were, and vice versa, it was –_should have been_ – a private matter. And though Calleigh was no doubt trying to help, in reality, she was doing the opposite.

Because Yelina understood her brother-in-law was… terrified of how a relationship with her would look. The juiciness of an inner-office romance aside, gossip lovers would relish the fact that she had been married to Horatio's brother. Which only made a potential relationship with her seem like a tawdry romance novel and absolutely wrong.

Those things working against them, it seemed impossible that _anything_ between the two could happen. Especially when they both worked _so_ hard to do the right thing, it was unlikely they'd be able to ignore those facts.

Not that it really mattered anymore, Yelina thought grimly. For all his trying to do the right thing, Horatio had screwed up – in _every_ way. And if she had done any better than he had in this area, it could only be by a very, very small measure. So miniscule in fact that she couldn't help but wonder where they'd both went wrong.

Having had tumultuous childhoods, they'd both aspired for more, for a relationship with someone who… wouldn't make things overly complicated and hostile. Which was something Horatio had had – or could have had – with Marisol Delko, but… Yelina had already lost all hope for herself to ever have that.

How could she when she never fell in love with the right man? How could that ever happen when all the men interested in her showed no regard for what she wanted or needed?

No, thanks to her husband, Rick… _herself_, that dream had been shattered.

In that moment, Calleigh smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to –"

"It's all right," Yelina told her, waving her off.

"No, you're right," the other woman interrupted quickly. "I shouldn't have stuck my nose in your business."

Shaking her head, quickly, Yelina explained, "It's not that."

Which wasn't exactly true, she realized. Calleigh being officious probably did play a part in how she was feeling. But there was more to it than that. And biting down on her lip, the brunette tried to find the words she wanted to say.

In the end, did she _truly_ care about Calleigh meddling?

Almost immediately, Yelina decided she did – if only because she deserved to hear the truth from Horatio herself.

But like a domino effect, the answer to that question only served to bring up another.

Did she _really_ want to know what Horatio's truth was? At this point, after everything he had done to their family, did she even care enough about him to care about the answer?

No.

Instantly coming to her, the resounding, surprising NO echoed in her mind.

As much as she cared for him – or had cared for him, he had hurt her. And she'd had enough.

Or maybe that wasn't exactly true. Because Yelina was sure if she looked deeply enough, she would find the strength and desire to keep fighting for this.

But rationally, Yelina believed this should be her limit – no, knew it should be. In the past, she had continued to go beyond this point. With her husband and Stetler, she'd always kept going, never accepting defeat. She'd known that they'd hurt her, but she had kept working on the relationship, convinced that she could make it work.

And it had never worked.

And now… Yelina couldn't see the point in trying to do the same with Horatio.

What had pushing through ever gotten her except more pain?

Oh, maybe abandonment, tears, and a son so screwed up and miserable that, if she weren't careful, would explode.

But nothing _good_ came from it.

In the past, Yelina had ignored that fact and had _insisted_ on seeing a silver lining when there obviously hadn't been one.

And she wasn't going to keep looking for it now.

Taking a deep breath, she explained to Calleigh, "I just think… for now, things are best left as they are." Her voice terse, she left no room for discussion.

Conversation no longer an option, Calleigh nodded her head and left.

Soon afterwards, the crowd began to disperse. If it was because the shock of her return had worn off or everyone remembered they had jobs, she didn't know. But slowly, one by one, they all left until the break room was empty, save for her, Stetler, and Delko.

Trying to avoid the inevitable baggage that would come along with Rick, Yelina approached the younger man instead.

Closer to him now, she could see that like Ryan, Eric had lost that little bit of youth and innocence he'd had let. And where as the former had softened, gained some weight and wisdom, the man before her just seemed… rougher. Sadder. The lines of his body more prominent and harsh, he hadn't looked this way since Speed died.

"Hey, Detective Salas," he said, the warmth in his voice not quite extending to his eyes. "Nice to see you back."

A smile on her lips, she told him, "Thank you."

The conversation was essentially over; she knew that much from past experience with him. They never said much to one another, always kept it professional. Completely unlike how things were with Frank, Yelina had worked with Eric numerous times, and they'd never really quite gotten passed that.

Which wasn't to say that she _didn't_ like Eric or he her, because they got on well enough. Just… when they weren't working, he seemed to always have his eye on some girl while she was trying to raise a son. And those two things didn't mesh well together, so they'd never really bothered to bridge that gap.

But in an instant, it seemed, that changed.

"So I guess it's true then," Eric said sadly.

Confused, she raised her eyebrows sympathetically. "What's true?"

The younger man nodded his head towards nothing, making her even more perplexed. "Wolfe was talking earlier about Horatio and this kid they'd taken into custody last week."

Dread and anger filling her like torrential rain in a tiny paper cup, she could only look away. Her darkened eyes determined to focus on absolutely nothing, she murmured, "Yeah."

"They're father and son," he said, disdain lacing every tone.

"Yes" was her tentative response, practically whispered in her hesitancy to admit it to someone else.

But now that the word had been uttered, the air around them seemed to congeal and thicken. Almost impossible to breathe, it made Yelina feel as though she were being suffocated. Which made the need to escape high, especially since Stetler seemed to be lingering about.

Eric swallowed hard, and as though feeling the same way she did, he suddenly asked, "Fresh air?"

In truth, Yelina wanted to get to work, to _avoid_ this conversation all together. But at the same time, she found herself nodding her head in agreement. Somehow, for whatever reason, she couldn't deny him. Not when his brown eyes were filled with betrayal and sadness and a certain amount of _need_.

Following him, she ended up out on the building's fire escape. The series of cement of wrought iron steps, landings, and railings was so unlike the rest of the CSI lab. Outdated, rarely trafficked, it had a charm that none of the bright lights and modern equipment in the remaining areas of the building did.

Seated on one of the landings, they had a perfect view of the parking lot. And it didn't escape her that among the vehicles missing was Horatio's Hummer. Not that she'd been expecting any differently, but… it did make her wonder if Eric noticed this as well.

But instead of asking, she gingerly plucked one of the candles out of the donut Frank had given her. Tasting the chocolate frosting for the first time, she was licking the wax when Delko asked, "Did you know Horatio had a son? I mean… before this week?"

There was no accusation in his tone, a simple question uttered in curiosity. But it made her ill at ease anyway. "No," she answered bitterly.

"He told you _himself_, though, right?" Anger and resentment audible in every word, Delko obviously felt slighted. And there was no doubt in Yelina's mind that if Horatio had told her the truth, the man before her would have gotten up and left as soon as she admitted it.

However…

That hadn't happened.

"I suspected something was different with this case," Yelina admitted, recalling quite clearly how she'd asked Horatio what was so important about Kyle. "He lied," she added angrily. "Rebecca Nevins told me. And…"

Her voice trailed off. The truth she was feeling bubble up inside of her was one she wasn't sure she wanted to say aloud. It was painful, almost too much so, but for the life of her, it was one she couldn't deny. "I don't think he would have told me if she hadn't."

It was hard to believe it, given how close their family had been at one point. But in her mind, with the way things were now, she could see Horatio denying it for as long as he could.

For forever if he could get away with it.

As secretive as he was, her brother in law could have _so easily_ taken custody and kept her at arm's length until the boy was old enough to be shipped off to college or prison. To the uninitiated, it might sound unlikely, but she knew differently.

After all, he had lied about Suzy and Madison.

He'd lied about Bob Keaton being released from prison and the possibility of _her husband_ being alive.

And if something had happened to Raymond on the day he re-entered their lives, Horatio would have no doubt lied and denied the whole thing then too.

He would have let her live the rest of her life in ignorance.

It had taken so long to see that truth, but she could no longer deny the pattern here; no matter how much she had a right to know something, Horatio… would lie if he deemed her to be too fragile for the truth. Which only ever made things worse and harder to handle, not that he would ever admit to it.

Breaking through her thoughts, Eric asked suddenly, "How long do you think he's known?"

She looked down at the donut in her hands. Taking a bite of it as she tried to count the number of days, she realized she didn't know off of the top of her head. Even though it had probably only been a week, it seemed so long ago.

It seemed like a lifetime had passed.

Offering the donut up to her companion, she answered with a shrug. "Not long."

After a second of gazing at the chocolate-glazed donut, he tore off a hunk. Turning it slowly in his fingers, Eric asked carefully, "When he was married to Marisol?" His eyes slid over to hers. "He know then?"

It hit her then that the man next to her _also_ had Horatio as a brother-in-law. That fact washing over her, she felt something approaching an affinity growing inside of her, and she turned her body towards him to get a better look.

He was distressed, visibly so.

But _not_ at what Horatio had done to _him._

Eric was upset at what Horatio might have to Marisol.

The act of brotherly love struck her as sweet, even as it sent a pang of hurt through her. Because frankly, the reminder of Marisol's existence wasn't an entirely welcome one, childish as that might be.

But pushing that thought aside, Yelina told him, "I… don't think so."

"That's not a no," Eric pointed out immediately.

"No, it's not," she conceded grimly. "I would like to believe he didn't – that… to some extent, I _do_ know him." She shrugged, even as she struggled to find the right words. "But at this point, I have come to expect the worst."

And yet, when her beeper went off at that second, she _hadn't_ been expecting the worst, she would later think.

Yanking the pager out of its holder, Yelina casually glanced down at the number. Her eyes turning dark as she read through it, she realized that it was her son's school.

Which couldn't be good.

Worry and fear clutched at her, grasped all sense of propriety and ripped it from her, as she read the last three numbers, "911."

Something was wrong.

Scrambling to her feet, she muttered to Eric, "I have to go." There was no second thought, no waiting for him to reply. All she could do was get to her car as fast as her heels would allow her.

_(End 50/??)_


	51. Chapter 50: Blood

Author's Notes: Firstly, I once again apologize for this being so late. I'm trying very hard to get things back on schedule, and I hope things will return to normal soon. Special thanks to RedHotLover for reviewing and for the private message. It's nice to know that there is someone else out there who cares about this fic. Also thank you to my beta for her help.

_If the show were mine, I wouldn't be doing this, would I?_

**No Other One  
****Chapter Fifty: Blood  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_We all grow up with the weight of history on us. Our ancestors dwell in the attics of our brains as they do in the spiraling chains of knowledge hidden in every cell of our bodies." – Shirley Abbott_

Truth was there weren't many things Ray Junior had learned from his father. Walking, talking – those skills had been taught by his mother mainly, or at least that was what Ray Junior assumed; he didn't have very many memories of his father from that time, and most of them were… nonsensical, small snippets of no real importance.

Or maybe that wasn't true at all. Those moments were _absolutely_ important to Ray Junior. But memories of sharing blueberry waffles with strawberry syrup at three in the morning and naming his pet parakeet left him wanting more. Made him wish that there were _more_ to the relationship that they'd had, although in some ways Ray Junior thought maybe he would feel that way no matter what.

And so when his namesake had reappeared, had essentially come back to life, they had had another chance, a chance to do _more_ with one another. Which had still included sugary sweet, capable-of-rotting-your-teeth breakfasts at the oddest hours.

But there'd been more the second time around, thankfully, including those father-son moments Ray had always seen on TV. The ones that always had looked so fake in their earnestness, in their plastic-y perfection, had become something of a reality for him. A week before Ray Senior would be gone forever, the two had gone "fishing."

In reality, the daytrip hadn't involved any fishing whatsoever. But that hadn't bothered Ray Junior, unlike the four am wake up call. His father had said they'd leave at six, but paranoid and strung out, Ray Senior had changed his mind.

"We need to get on the road" had been all the reasoning he offered, and Ray Junior had known better than to argue. Not that he had really wanted to – he'd been without his dad so long, it had seemed wrong to fight.

And a short time later, they'd ended up in the rainforest that existed in the middle of the city. A lush oasis completely out of place, it had been Ray Senior's preferred hiding spot. "Makes you feel like time isn't passing – like it's nothing," he'd said, as they'd wandered deep into the dense forest. "Makes you feel like nothing can touch you."

Grumpy from the lack of sleep, Ray Junior hadn't been able to stop himself from replying, "Nothing except all these damn bugs." His hand swatting dramatically at something large, he hadn't appreciated all the insects in the air.

"You sound like your _mother_ when you _bitch_, Ray," his father had said unkindly.

The comparison, unfair in every way, had been enough to shut the boy up. Which had been unlike him, Ray Junior could see now. Normally, he would have fought tooth and nail against the idea that he was like his mother. But in that moment, he'd only wanted to have a good time with his father. And inevitably, any defense of his mother or himself would ruin that, he'd realized.

Really, he'd known that fact long before that day, had accepted it as part of his life the moment they'd set foot in Rio. His excitement over having his father back settling down, he'd learned: if he wanted to get along with both parents, he had to… remain as neutral as he could.

Even if it had been completely unfair to _him_.

So as father and son had walked deeper into the forest, Ray had kept his mouth shut.

And finally the two had settled down on top of a large tree root, the location hidden from foot traffic. The dark wood, uneven and rough, had begun to dig into the back of Ray Junior's legs and butt when his father had whipped out a joint.

As though it were the most normal thing in the world.

Ray Junior's own muted surprise at the situation, he realized later, had said quite a bit as well.

At the time, he'd waited patiently, silently, as Ray Senior lit the thin homemade cigarette. What he'd been waiting for exactly the teenager still didn't know. But in that moment, he'd felt as though _something_ was about to happen, and so he'd waited anxiously for his father to say, do something.

Of course, that task had been difficult to do – to wait _anxiously_. The smell of pot filling the air, it had mixed with the heady scent of wet soil and plant pollen, and it had almost instantly begun to work on Ray Junior's nerves.

But not on his eyes.

His gaze insistent, he had watched his father take a long pull on the joint. And truthfully, the older man had looked… happier then than Ray Junior had ever seen him. He'd been so completely at peace, happy and relaxed. And Ray Junior had seen it then: his father was a drug addict.

That realization hadn't stung much then – there'd been no chance for it to, as Ray Senior had asked in the most casual manner, "You ever try this before?"

The truth was he _had_, the same night Chris and his stupid friends had shot that homeless man. But in that moment, Ray Junior had been too stunned to respond.

This was _his father_, he'd thought at the time. And yet here the man was, acting like the stereotypical seventeen-year-old thug trying to get the younger kid to smoke dope.

This was his _dad_, and it was so messed up, he'd told himself, that he was sure his mother was right to be so miserable in Brazil.

"Guess not," Ray Senior had said, answering his own question. "Your mother," he'd started to say with a chuckle in his voice. "She keeps you so sheltered."

The conversation irritating him, Ray Junior had yanked the blunt from his father's mouth. "Yeah, well, I'm sure she's just saving up to buy me a real nice hooker for my sixteenth birthday," he'd said sarcastically.

His words mingling with the smoke in the air, Ray had taken a long drag from the cigarette. The desire to cough had been almost unbearable, even though he'd smoked weed before. But purposefully, Ray Junior had suppressed that need, and that had made him look like someone who had spent plenty of time dabbling with dope… just as he'd hoped it would.

That appearance had apparently made his father happy, because the older man had nodded approvingly then. Like Ray Junior had done something _admirable._

It was completely screwed up, made worse by the fact that… he'd wanted that acceptance.

Even if it meant doing something pretty retarded.

"You sound like your uncle," Ray Senior had said. "He would have talked like that when we were kids… Although he would have totally puked his brains out at the smell of a little weed," he'd lazily added on as an afterthought.

"Not like Horatio, Dad," Ray Junior had corrected. "I can, like… I don't know… speak in complex sentences and stay out in the sun."

His father had giggled in response, the pot clearly wrapping its warm and fuzzy arms around him. And the drug's embrace had also found Ray Junior, because he too… had started to _really_ feel the effects.

Which had been completely okay with him, because the less… thinking, or whatever, he had to do about this situation, the better.

Ignoring the bizarreness, the wrongness of this whole deal, pretending like his mother wouldn't freak out when they both went home high as a kite, Ray Junior had allowed himself to slip into a deep haze.

Whatever the father and son had talked about that day, the teenager really didn't remember now. The only thing he could recall with great clarity was the point in the day when they'd started to talk about his mother.

A couple of blunts long since smoked, Ray Senior had announced suddenly, as they'd laid on the tree root, "Your mom doesn't get it. She thinks everything will get better all on its own."

Ray Junior had wanted to argue that getting high in the middle of the forest was hardly making their problems go away. But he'd kept his mouth shut, knowing that it wouldn't help anything.

"She thinks," the older man had continued, "that… I don't know what she thinks. You know what your mother thinks? Because she has become a whole damn different _species_, I swear," he'd rambled on, pulling a needle out of his pocket.

The small, plastic object had dirt on it, looked as though it had been used many, _many_ times before. "Dad…" A lump had grown in the back of Ray Junior's throat. The weed, he'd thought, had been one thing, but this… was bad.

This was _really_ bad.

And he'd wondered then how long his mother had known, or if she'd known… or if this was how it had been before Ray Senior had died the first time. Ray Junior's thoughts, questions, had meandered from one to the other, the weed making it hard to concentrate on anything.

The only constant, it had seemed at the time, the only thing he really _had_ continually understood at that moment had been that…

This was _so _screwed up.

His _father_ had flicked at the needle, the motion getting rid of any air bubbles. "Whatever you do," he'd told Ray Junior. "Don't ever do this shit. You'll never get out of it, man."

In muted horror, Ray Junior had watched him inject the drugs into his arm.

And as the meth – or maybe it was heroin, who the hell knew – had begun to work, his father's ramblings had gotten worse. "Yelina doesn't understand, but I know the truth. And you do too – you gotta protect your family, gotta… support them and stuff."

Not following, Ray Junior had asked, "How – "

"I have a problem, I know," his father had interrupted miserably. Flicking the dirty needle into a nearby plant, he'd stood up. "Lets go home," he'd said suddenly.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Ray Junior hadn't imagined that his mother would particularly appreciate them coming home stoned out of their gourds.

"Yeah… your mom won't like it but whatever," he'd said with a shrug. "What the hell _does_ she like these days? She misses home, I get that," his father had told him, trying to sound understanding. And then the older man's mood had changed almost instantly as he'd added, "She misses flirting with _my_ brother – whatever."

As they'd stumbled home, Ray Junior had remained quiet; he hadn't known what to say, and he _definitely_ hadn't wanted to get involved in… whatever the hell his parents were fighting about. So once again he'd stayed quiet, instead silently helping his father navigate the uneven ground to get back out of the rainforest.

"She's miserable, Ray," his father had told him, sadness creeping in his voice. "She _hates_ me, man, and I'm… you know, I'm _trying_ to fix it, but all she wants to do is bitch about how much I've screwed up." He'd tripped over an obnoxiously large root then, and Ray Junior had had to reach out and grab his father's arm to keep him from falling to the ground.

But if the older man had noticed that he'd almost ended up face first in rainforest dirt, he hadn't looked like it. Instead he'd just kept talking. "She doesn't understand what I'm doing, doesn't _appreciate _it at all, you know? Cause she doesn't understand that a _man_ has to _fight_ for his family."

His father had stopped at that moment, despite the fact that they'd been crossing a road. And ignoring the cars around them, he'd put his hands on Ray Junior's shoulders and said, "Remember that – men protect their family no matter what it takes."

At the time, it had seemed hypocritical for Ray Senior to say that. Had he really been protecting his family when he'd let them all think he was dead, Ray Junior had wanted to ask.

That question, one that could _never_ have a sufficient answer, had toyed with his mind. Permeating through the fuzzy haze of his high, it had left a knot in Ray Junior's stomach.

The feeling of anger washing over him hotly, he'd wanted to scream and hit and leave his damn father bleeding and in _pain_. As much pain as the older man had left the rest of his family in when he'd faked his death. The idea of vengeance, of violence, so tempting in that moment, even after the fact, Ray Junior wasn't sure why he hadn't done it.

Maybe it was out of some sort of loyalty to family or… to the idea of who his father had been _before._

He didn't understand it now, hadn't then. Really, all he'd known in that moment was he wanted to be home already; not _here_ in Rio, but _home_, which was and only could ever be Miami.

And it had been just as he'd felt completely _trapped_ that they'd gotten home. His mother waiting for them, Ray Junior had felt his stomach drop to his knees.

His anger replaced immediately with "Shit!" echoing in his mind, he'd been terrified that she would figure out what they'd been doing together.

The teenager never forgot the way the living room had filled with tension, nor the color his mother's eyes had changed. Dark and brooding, they'd silently dared the father-son duo to speak.

"What in the –" Her angry words had been cut off by Ray Senior slumping his body against hers. His face had pressed into the side of her neck, his lips brushing against her skin.

As Ray Junior had thought how _icky_ this whole marital display was, his father had muttered, "Ooooh, Mommy's mad." One of his hands had skirted around her waist. His fingers dirty from their adventure in the rainforest, had left dark gray and brown smudges on the white linen edges of her top.

And Ray Junior had only been able to stand there, practically staring at his parents. His eyes wide and worried, he'd wondered what would happen next. Even though he'd known it to be wrong and kind of rude to do it, he'd still done it.

His father had spent so much time undercover when Ray was little, so the boy hadn't ever really seen his parents be a couple. There were snippets of memory but not enough to really know what they'd been like together or why they'd even loved one another.

It was almost funny to wonder about that, because before Rio, Ray Junior had never even thought about it. They'd just been… his parents or whatever, and that had been all the explanation necessary. But now that the three of them were together, the boy hadn't been able to stop himself from wondering about it. Maybe it was because they fought so much that his curiosity was piqued; maybe he'd just needed to know that they really _did_ love each other at one point, if not now.

Whatever the reason, he'd been eager to witness every interaction, every word – all of it so he could understand. Why had they fallen in love? Why had his mother named him after his father?

Myth and reality swapped casually for one another in all the stories he'd heard as a boy, Ray Junior had needed to see it for himself. Even when it had hurt to watch, even when it had grossed him out to do so, he'd kept looking.

And right then, Ray Junior, once again, had regretted doing so.

His father sniffling loudly against his mother's neck, the emotions of the room had shifted. Oh, his mother had still been furious – Ray Junior had recognized that much. But there'd been something muted about it, something in her that had read as timid… maybe she'd just been too afraid to push Ray Senior over the edge.

Which had seemed, at the time, like a very real possibility. Gone was the bravado he'd walked in with and replacing it had been this… very palpable sadness that made Ray Junior completely forgive his father for all of his mistakes.

As much as he'd wanted to stay angry, he hadn't been able to. His father had just been too pathetic to deny him that.

Against his wife's neck, Ray Senior mumbled, "You're always mad at me. You _hate_ me, Yelina, and I love you so much. You're _killing_ me here." His words had been cut off with a loud sob, the older man breaking down into tears. Crying noisily, Ray Senior had grabbed her hard, almost too afraid to let go of her.

"I'm trying to fix it," he'd sobbed over and over to Ray's mother, who had looked absolutely stricken by the whole display.

Especially when the older man had collapsed onto his knees and buried his face in her skirt. "Forgive me, Yelina," he'd cried into the black material. A hand wrapped around her ankle, the other hand had a tight grip around her thigh. His fingertips had rested just above her knee and underneath her skirt. And the whole thing had just made him look so… _desperate_ to hold onto her.

The image so devastating to Ray Junior, he'd finally snapped out of his silent voyeurism. He hadn't wanted to see anymore ever; it was just too painful.

His mother's voice had carried then over the loud, muffled cries. "Raymond," she'd said, looking at the boy. "I can't do this now. Please leave us alone." It had been so… curt, _so_ unlike her that he'd only been able to blink.

In a way too frozen to move, Ray Junior had stood there dumbly. And since he hadn't started to move, his father, having heard his name as well, had started to believe that she meant _him_.

Ray Senior beginning to stumble, on his knees, away from her, he'd said miserably, "Fine, you don't want me to –"

"Not you, Husband," she'd interrupted gently, despite her obvious irritation, one of her hands tugging him back towards her. Still unable to move, Ray Junior had thought then that his mother… couldn't resist. For all of her talk, he'd realized then that she really _did_ love him, that… her relationship with Ray Senior was just as addictive as the drugs were.

And, unable to watch anymore, Ray Junior had taken the opportunity to sprint towards his room. Almost hoping that he could outrun the whole thing, he hadn't wanted to remember any of it.

But even now, all this time later, he couldn't rid himself of the events from that day. Somehow those scenes had stuck with him. Becoming the representation of the year in Rio, that day refused to be forgotten.

If anything, there were times when Ray Junior couldn't _stop_ thinking about it. His father's pain and desperate desire to make things right had been etched into the teen's very soul. Almost like phantom presences in the boy's life, those feelings were always hovering nearby, always tangible. Even when it made no sense for them to exist, they were there, somehow transferred from his father. Which somehow made sense – or at least felt appropriate, given that they were namesakes.

And tied to his dad with blood and affinity, Ray Junior couldn't help but know what his father meant when he talked about protecting family.

Sitting now in Spanish class (and totally _not_ paying attention), the teenager told himself that he was doing the right thing. That, while his mother would be upset by it, this was the _right thing to do_. Kyle would be a casualty, he told himself, would have to be. That stranger had to go, Ray Junior reasoned once again, because he had interfered with Ray Junior's _family_, had wrecked it.

And that was a transgression that _had_ to be punished.

Even if it meant getting in trouble.

That… was what his father had done by coming out of hiding, what his father would do if he were still –

"Señor Caine," his teacher said sharply in that moment.

Lazily Ray Junior turned his attention to the severe woman. Dramatically done, it was all a show so that she would know just how bored he really was. In other words, he was acting… well, pretty much how he always acted in Spanish class.

It wasn't that the class was hard; really, it was just the opposite. Boring and easy, it had never challenged his mind, had never caught his attention. Almost to prove his point, the teacher asked him then to read a paragraph from the book, which had originally been written for fourth graders.

"No, thanks," he told her snottily. It was completely _annoying_ and _asshole-y_ to make someone, who had learned to speak Spanish when he learned to speak English, to take this class. And he wasn't going to pretend otherwise, even if it meant he was going to fail the class.

It was _beneath _him.

"¿Por qué no?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

With a smirk on his face, Ray Junior told her, "Porque I don't speak Spanish."

The teacher sighed. "I see another trip to the principal's office is in order," she said, dismay lacing every tone.

It didn't take her long to write the pink slip he needed. Frankly, the teenager wouldn't be surprised if she had a whole pad of them written up just for him to use. Because, even though school had really barely just started, this was becoming a regular thing for him. So much so that he was probably failing the class but oh well.

And yet if Ray Junior thought this was going to be just another trip to the principal's office, he couldn't have been more wrong.

Because not ten feet away from the classroom he came out of, he saw _him_ – _Kyle._

His heart tightened at the sight of the newbie walking down the hallway towards one of the bathrooms. His breath unconsciously being held, Ray Junior _knew_ in his marrow that this was the _perfect_ opportunity to get his revenge.

Something came over him in that second. No time to plan exactly what he was going to do, a part of Ray Junior already seemed to know how to handle this.

His footsteps were fast but soft, just slow enough to give the illusion that he wasn't following the blond. His breathing controlled and calm, he was not surprised that Kyle didn't notice him – or at least didn't seem to anyway.

Less than a foot away, Ray Junior balled his hands into fists.

He was ready.

Retribution was here.

And there was no one to save the teenager.

Not even Uncle Horatio.

"Hey," Ray Junior said as casually as he could.

Kyle seemed to turn around in slow motion, his body's pace the perfect speed for Ray's target practice.

Two sets of dark eyes met one another. Different but the same, only Ray Junior's had a glint of anger and mischief in them.

Kyle opened his mouth to ask, "What?"

But the words never came out.

Ray's fist hurled through the air. Knuckles hitting cartilage loudly, a smack echoed in the silent hallway. Immediately following it was the blond's yelp of pain, sharp and noisy, and Ray Junior's own growl, low and gritty.

Kyle, having no time to react, slipped on the freshly waxed tile. His sneakers squeaking loudly, he had no traction. And he fell, sprawled out on the floor.

Blood gushed, oozed, from the blond's nose. And absentmindedly, as though seeing everything through that haze again, Ray could feel the warm, sticky liquid on his burning fingers.

"Holy crap, you douche bag!" Kyle nearly howled. Standing up, he was prepared to fight back.

But it didn't matter.

The noise had attracted the attention of one of the nearby classrooms. And a teacher and his assistant rushed at the two teens. Hands grabbing at the cousins, they ended the fight before it had even really begun.

Muted disappointment hitting him, Ray Junior could only think:

He was going to be in trouble.

But his father would have absolutely understood.

_End (51/??)_


	52. Chapter 51: The Whore

Author's Notes: Thanks first and foremost to RedHotLover and Mrs. Darcy1234 for the reviews. I appreciate it a lot. Also thanks to my beta for her help.

Please read and review.

_Disclaimer: Don't own the show._

**No Other One  
****Chapter Fifty-One: The Whore  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_I walked beside the evening sea and dreamed a dream that could not be; the waves that plunged along the sore said only: 'Dreamer, dream no more!'" – George William Curtis_

Her driving had been borderline dangerous, frantic enough to worry herself that she might have an accident. Everyone else on the road had seemed unconcerned, she would later think. But Yelina had worried anyway that she'd die before reaching the school.

Now in the parking lot, the mother walked quickly. Trying _very_ hard to calm down, she told herself that she was reacting over nothing. That, despite the "911" in the page, she had no reason to be as upset as she was.

_Something_ was going on, but Yelina recognized that she was assuming the _worst_. And that wasn't right – especially not when her son regularly accused her of doing just that. She should know better, at least _strive_ for better, and that meant she needed to take a deep breath and work on the assumption that things weren't as bad as they seemed. As she took one last step towards the school entrance, Yelina forced herself to calm down.

But it wasn't an easy task, she thought. Even after her gait slowed and her breathing began to even out, the mother still wondered what might have happened. Knowing Ray Junior, Yelina realized that the possibilities were endless these days. And she could only hope that he'd done something _good_.

Once more, though, she thought about how the page had said "911." Which pretty much ruled out her son being involved in anything remotely positive.

But for him, for his sake, she clung to the idea that he might have done something right.

Moments later, however, when the secretary let Yelina into the principal's office, she knew otherwise. And almost immediately…

Her hopes were dashed.

Ray Junior stood defensively, _blood spatter_ flecked on his yellow shirt, by the large desk in the room. Two teachers were leaning against the opposite wall, one Yelina recognized as Ray's ever-suffering Spanish teacher. And standing right in the middle of it was the school principal, Gerald Dowman, a pompous, little man whom she'd dealt with _many_ times before.

_Many, many_ times.

Since entering the school, her son had ended up here more than she'd have liked to admit. Misbehaving in class, truancy, tardiness, refusing to do assignments – he'd committed the generic acts of a teenager intent on learning absolutely nothing. But that wasn't all he'd done. Definitely more than an average delinquent, Ray Junior had been at the heart of some incredibly bizarre and horrible incidents as well.

Around the anniversary of his father's death (the time when Raymond had _actually_ died), he had taken it upon himself to concoct a fast-acting adhesive. Which in and of itself was breaking school rules, as students were only allowed to use the facility's chemicals as instructed. That her son should then use the homemade glue to adhere his lab partner in her miniskirt to her seat did nothing to help matters.

Truth be told, Yelina still wasn't sure how she'd managed to keep Ray Junior from being expelled. But there was no doubt in her mind that it was _she_ who had been the one to make that seemingly impossible feat possible.

Because each time, she had come in here to discuss one of her son's infractions, Dowman had been angrily threatening to suspend or expel Ray. And it had not been the teenager's ability to charm people but _hers_ that had worked. Each and every time, she'd offer a kind word, a flirtatious smile, and the principal had slowly been calmed down.

"Ms. Salas," he said, interrupting her thoughts with a salacious grin that was completely inappropriate.

Honestly, she _hated_ doing this for Raymond, hated being the one to essentially prostitute herself to cover his mistakes. Especially since the mother was beginning to suspect that he _never_ learned from the mayhem he caused.

And yet, even fearing that to be true didn't stop her from giving the obnoxious principal a grin of her own. As wrong as this felt – _was_ – Yelina couldn't let her son's future suffer.

No matter how horrible her actions were, she could not – _would not_ – use "tough love." Not when it would inevitably lead to his expulsion. She supposed that… taking that position made her weak, particularly in her son's eyes. But…

What else could she do?

Letting a child flounder and accept the consequences of his actions might not have been a mistake in theory. But with a boy as destructive as hers… she couldn't in good conscience do it.

"Please sit down," Dowman told her.

But shaking her head politely, she declined. If she were going to have to listen to what Ray Junior did, she'd rather be standing. Cutting to the chase, Yelina asked grimly, "What has my son done now?"

"_Mom_," Ray said, obviously annoyed.

The adults in the room ignored him.

"Your son got into a fight," the principal explained calmly, sadly.

The words washing over her hotly, Yelina couldn't help but frown, couldn't help but feel her heart twinge in pain.

_How_ could her son be so _reckless_?

As the question echoed in her mind, Dowman continued, "He says the other boy attacked him unprovoked." His voice was even, gentle but firm at the same time; no accusation in the tones whatsoever, somehow Yelina still managed to think _nobody_ in the room believed that story.

_She_ didn't.

Given Ray Junior's past behavior – and his current pristine condition – it was hard _not_ to think her son was lying.

The principal spoke slowly as he told her, "We've yet to talk to the other boy. He's still at the hospital, but –"

"The hospital?" Yelina repeated, feeling numb and nauseous.

The sensation flowing through her in a series of short tides, it felt like… something she could only describe as hollow dread. The situation too vague and unformed to really fear it, she could only wait for the principal to paint the rest of this horrible picture for her.

But what she was beginning to see, even without knowing all the details, scared her.

There was a _hospital _involved.

And that meant even if she could convince Dowman not to call the police – _other_ police officers, anyway – she had no such connection or pull over the hospital.

Because of that, Yelina knew: there was no easy way out of this now, no amount of flirtation that would necessarily stop them from expelling Ray.

Or keep him out of jail.

Perhaps sensing her fear, the principal attempted to soothe, "It's a precaution, of course."

Which prompted a teacher Yelina had never seen before to speak up. "Don't _lie_ to her, Gerald, for Christ's sake," she admonished. "Ms. Salas, I was one of the teachers who stopped the fight. The other boy… well, he might have a broken nose," she told her simply.

Yelina could tell the dowdy woman was trying to somehow break the news gently without making the situation seem better than it was. Still, the mother didn't think the other woman had succeeded all that well in doing so.

At that moment, Yelina was long passed needing superficial comfort, her brain racing at the news.

Ray Junior had _broken_ somebody's nose.

The sheer violence of it was almost breathtaking, made her wonder _why_ he would do something like that.

She wasn't in denial about the… less than ideal family life they _both_ had as of late. _Obviously_, she had made mistakes – _everyone_ in their family had screwed up when it came to raising him and making good choices.

One horrible thing right after the other, realistically, Yelina understood that all the motive to do something so wrong was right there in front of her face. But still… she couldn't help but feel betrayed.

As horrible as things were, he was _supposed _to be the one _perfect _thing about her life.

Not perfect in a general sense, not perfect as in he couldn't have any flaws… she didn't want that for her son, didn't expect it from him. But Ray Junior was her _baby_, that bond perfect and indestructible; he'd been her reason for pressing on, for trying again and _again_ to do better. In no short measure, he had been her reason for living.

To know that she had _failed_ him by not protecting, by _not_ guiding him…

His actions today ruined all of that. That idea of him, of _her _as his _mother_, broken just as that boy's nose was… it would be a _long_ time, if _ever_, before she would forgive him for this.

Her accusatory eyes falling upon his defensive form, she barely heard the principal speak once more. "Denise is right. There was… a lot of blood, and… we're pretty sure the other boy has a broken nose," he conceded. "But that boy – a new student, by the way – _also_ has a criminal background."

At that moment, Yelina noticed the teachers bristle at the information, but she was far too focused on her son to care. Ray Junior seemed almost… _pleased_ by Dowman's defense. And the mother couldn't help but think she'd been handling all these trips to the principal's office wrong.

Because right now, all she wanted to do was slap that arrogant smirk off of her son's face.

Resisting the temptation, Yelina focused on the man before her. "Criminal record?" she asked curiously, hoping he would divulge that bit of information.

He did.

"Normally, I don't like to… talk about the problems our other students have with people other than their parents," he hedged. "But… this sixteen year old _just_ transferred in – mother's dead; father thought a new school would help with behavioral problems."

"And you said yes."

"As you know, Yelina… we _pride _ourselves on diversity and giving our students the tools needed to succeed in life." Dowman sounded, she thought, like a used car salesman. But she didn't comment, just waited for him to keep talking. "I wouldn't put my kids intentionally at risk. _Ever_. So I conducted an interview with the boy and his father."

"Mr. Dowman," the woman Yelina recognized as Ray's Spanish teacher admonished. "I don't think –"

"It's okay, Missy. If this goes to court, it's all gonna come out then anyway," he said, waving off her concern. "The teenager seemed normal – quiet but otherwise normal. Like I said, he had a criminal background – that included stealing and a kidnapping." As an afterthought, Dowman added, "Although the news is now fingering two other kids for that job, so who knows?"

But the more he told her, the more… Yelina was beginning to feel like she was missing something. _Something_ had provoked her son; _something_ about this entire situation felt so familiar and _near_, despite the insanity of it all.

The explanation seemingly in reach, her fingers metaphorically stretched outward for it. But it remained elusive.

She took a deep breath and tried again.

Forcing her feelings aside once more, Yelina tried to look at the situation from dispassionate eyes. Trying _so hard_ to close that gap in her knowledge, she could tell that the answer was close. And in a flash, before she could even think about stopping herself, she asked, "What is this student's name?"

Simply, the principal answered, "Kyle Harmon."

She could only steel herself against the feeling of her world crashing down around her once more.

Too aware of the strangers around them, Yelina _refused_ to show the anger and hurt she felt. That was something she only wanted her _son_ to see.

Her eyes briefly darted to Ray's, and the mother could readily make out the look of unease – of _fear_ – on his face. Quickly glancing back at the principal, Yelina told them as calmly as she could, "All right, I think I would like… to speak to my son alone for a moment if that's okay."

The other adults exchanged glances, as though trying to decide if leaving the mother and son alone was a good idea. It was a vile insinuation, the unspoken words sharpening the jagged edges of her broken heart. Turning away from her son, she glared at Dowman and the teachers in the room; silently, Yelina _dared_ them to say what they were all thinking.

But no one did.

And finally, the principal said, "That's fine with us," the three adults quickly exiting the room.

The door shutting behind them, Yelina turned once more to Ray Junior. At that moment, looking at him, she felt her anger and disappointment grow inside of her; a feat she hadn't thought possible, but in that second, she realized that he didn't look the least bit contrite.

Oh, he looked _unsure_, maybe even a little afraid of what his punishment would be.

But _nowhere_ in his face did she see guilt.

"_What_ did you do, Raymond?" Her voice was hard, the tones clipped short, and it was a struggle not to yell at him.

His answer sounded like something he'd been practicing since the moment the fight ended. "_He_ attacked _me_ first, and I –"

Furiously, Yelina shook her head. "And yet, _little boy_, there's not a scratch on you."

The way he bristled at her words made her realize she didn't need to scream at him; the chill in her voice was practically tangible, gave what she was saying just the right amount of bite. And it was _more_ than enough to make him uncomfortable.

"I was –"

"Stop right now," she said, cutting him off. As she took a step closer to him, she continued, "I have yet to hear a single honest word come out of your mouth. And right now, this is too important, Raymond, for you to lie to me, so _stop_ it," she ordered angrily.

Ray Junior opened his mouth to speak. But, her eyes blazing a deadly black, told him angrily, "Don't you _dare_ think I am in the mood for a fight."

He smartly closed his mouth without uttering a word.

"Tell me what really happened," she demanded.

His response was an instinctive one, the words, "It's not my fault," blurted out before he could stop himself.

Her accent rougher than normal, she ordered, "Stop lying."

"I'm not!"

"This is what I know," she told him, changing her approach to the situation. "Ever since your uncle told you the truth, you've been furious. You –"

"Well, jeez, _Mommy Dearest_, last I checked, _you_ weren't exactly acting like Mary fucking Sunshine over the news either," he snapped back.

That smirk on his face again, Ray threw a hand in the air. "If that's the only thing you got… I don't know – are we sure _you_ didn't attack Little Orphan Annie?"

Furiously, Yelina closed the remaining distance between them until they were only a fraction of a step away from one another. Grabbing him roughly by the chin in a grip so strong he didn't dare move, she commanded, "Look at me _now_."

Of course, the order was unnecessary; he was already looking at her intently. Not in _fear_, but rather with slightly amused and curious eyes, he silently waited for her to speak some more.

"_You_ have _assaulted _someone. _You_ may have broken his nose. _You_ have been the one sneaking around, looking for revenge." With a shake of the head, she asked him sadly, "Do you know what that is, Raymond?"

She didn't give him time to answer. "_That_ is premeditation. _That_ is the difference between you being suspended and _expelled_. _That_ is the difference between you going…" She took a deep breath and swallowed hard before finishing, "Between you going to juvy and you going to a prison with _adults_."

But if Ray understood the seriousness of the situation, he didn't show it. Scoffing he told her, "Whatever. We both know you'll do what you always do and get me out of it. Before they _ever_ put the handcuffs on me, we both know you'll _whore_ yourself out and stop them."

Resentment was palpable in each word; the way he spoke of her then, sounding so _unappreciative_, he wasn't even trying to stop her from realizing:

He didn't even care that she had worked so hard to help him.

If anything, he _judged_ her for it.

That fact made her own resentment begin to blossom. He just had _no_ appreciation for what she _regularly_ did for him, she thought bitterly. Dropping her hand from his chin, she could no longer bear the small amount of contact with him. It was just too painful, his skin burning her just as much as his words had.

Her own response wasn't much kinder. "If I'm a whore, Raymond, what precisely does that make _you_?"

His answer was to look away from her.

"You might hate me for doing what it takes to keep you out of trouble," she conceded. "But I don't see _you_ doing _anything_ to change that."

He was annoyed when he told her, "Again – _whatever_. And," Ray said, getting angrier, "If you think I'm going to _tell_ you what happened when you've _clearly_ already decided that I'm at fault, then –"

"If _you_ believe that it's smart to _lie_ to the _one_ person who is trying to _help_ you," Yelina snapped, her voice thick with her accent.

"Well, I'm not going to tell you." The way he said it sounded so final, his body language telling her that he really wasn't ever going to admit or talk about what happened.

Hands on her hips, she told him, "Then you should pray, Raymond, that I can make this go away." As she stalked toward the door, Yelina turned and gave him a stern look. "If you could, at least, _try_ to look apologetic, that would be nice."

He said nothing.

The pressure all on her now, she opened the door. Her features schooled so that the anger and frustration she felt didn't show, Yelina told Dowman (who was, of course, standing nearby) pleasantly, "I think we need to talk, yes?"

He followed her back in, glancing briefly at Ray Junior, who _did_ have the good sense to pretend that he regretted what he had done.

As the adults sat down, Dowman said, "I think you know what I'm going to say."

A small smile she didn't feel on her lips, she responded, "The policy."

"Yeah."

"You know I'm very familiar with it, Gerald." Her voice was as teasing as she could make it. "As Raymond has probably violated each and every line… I understand the position you're in."

"I don't _want_ to expel him," the principal said, although she couldn't decide if he was being genuine when he said it. "But you know our zero tolerance –"

"I understand," she replied immediately. "But…" Yelina ran her tongue along her teeth, pretending to search for the words. "Certainly, there is some… _discretion_ on your part, I should think." Leaning forward in her chair, she explained, "If… a child had a disease that made them… psychotic, you would not expel them, would you?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her son bristle at her words. But he didn't say anything, and frankly at the moment, that was all that mattered.

"Are you saying your son has a medical condition?"

She wished.

Shaking her head with a frown, she answered, "No. But I would ask you, please, to try and understand what led him to hurting Kyle Harmon."

Dowman furrowed his brow in confusion. "I'm listening."

The whole story took about ten minutes to get through – how Horatio had found this boy, how they'd all learned Kyle was his son, how difficult it had been for Ray Junior to learn the truth about his uncle, and the rest. None of the details were airbrushed, the pain in her voice and Ray Junior's eyes incredibly real.

In truth, it was uncommon for her to share so much with someone who was a relative stranger. And as the words came out her mouth, Yelina couldn't help but wonder where Horatio was. After all, if _anyone_ should have been revealing this truth, it should have been _him_.

It should have been him, because this was all his fault, even as part of her recognized that it wasn't. He should have been the one here, because… she had already suffered enough. And telling someone _this_ story was a shameful, almost degrading act that she _hadn't_ earned.

Her whole body rebelling at her current reality, she struggled to listen to what the principal was saying. But through the almost incessant need to throw up, Yelina heard the offer he made.

A week's suspension.

A notation on his permanent record.

She agreed to it immediately.

And even more immediately, the mother regretted doing so, as she and Ray Junior walked out to the car in the parking lot. Her son arrogantly strutting next to her, he asked her, "See? I _knew_ you'd get me out of this, _Mommy_."

The sarcasm in the last word was breathtaking, literally seemingly capable of stealing all the oxygen in the late morning air. Struggling to inhale, Yelina rationally understood why he would twist and stain all the wonderful connotations of "Mommy."

She let it get to her.

But how could she _not_?

How could that _not_ affect her?

Spinning around angrily to face him, Yelina warned him, "You haven't been expelled. That _doesn't_ mean you're out of trouble, _little one,_" she said with a sneer.

"I'm _not_ going to jail," he said snottily.

Her response was quick, honest. "By the time I'm done with you, Raymond, you'll wish you _were_ in prison."

Sarcastically, Ray asked, "What – you gonna get the belt? A wire coat hanger or something?"

In complete seriousness, Yelina told him, "You'll wish I had done that too."

_End (52/??)_


	53. Chapter 52: Near and Far

Author's Notes: Thank you to RedHotLover for the comments. I'm thrilled that you still find this fic interesting, fifty some chapters later. I really appreciate hearing that from you. Also thanks to Olly for all of her help.

_Please read and review._

_Disclaimer: I don't own the show. _

**No Other One  
****Chapter Fifty-Two: Near and Far  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_Somewhere we know that without silence words lose their meaning, that without listening speaking no longer heals, that without distance closeness cannot cure." – Henri Nouwen_

They'd been uncharacteristically silent on the drive home, and the lack of noise unnerved Ray Junior more than he liked to admit. Truth be told, he thought the hush shouldn't have bothered him at all. Given that they were usually talking and yelling, he thought this should have been a nice reprieve from cutting remarks and cough drops.

But for whatever reason, it didn't feel that way. And shifting on his seat, Ray Junior anxiously waited for his mother to start lecturing.

Of course, she didn't.

So all he could do was sit back and impatiently wait for her to start.

And Ray figured that she _would_ start at some point. As silent as she was in that moment, there was no way she was going to let him get away with what he'd done; there was _no_ way she was going to pass up an opportunity to shriek about how much he'd screwed up.

Unless…

Maybe she secretly approved of what he had done?

It was wishful thinking, he realized almost immediately. The chances of that being true were so slim that it pretty much seemed impossible. But if she wasn't yelling… then it couldn't be all that bad, right?

Wrong.

Soooooo wrong.

Hazarding a glance at her, Ray Junior knew he was being nothing short of _delusional_ to think she was okay with what happened. The angry set of her shoulders, her lips twisted into a gnarly looking frown…

Yeah, she was _pissed_, and if she wasn't yelling… well, he didn't know exactly why she wasn't yelling. But the point was she _would_. And that meant he was only biding his time before the nuclear meltdown.

Which turned out not to be much time at all.

Just as he started to tell himself that he'd had every right to beat the crap out of Kyle, Ray realized how close to home they really were. Only a few minutes later, in fact, they were in the driveway, and the ticking time bomb went off.

When he'd been waiting in Dowman's office, he had thought that the way things would go was this: his mother would get him off, yell at him in the car, threaten to kill him in the driveway, yell at him some more in the house, ineffectually ground him, and be done with it.

But if he'd thought that she'd be hot on his trail as they walked into the house…

He'd been wrong.

The car merely in neutral, his mother didn't reach for the door handle as he did. In fact, she made no move at all, and that made him literally raise an eyebrow. Curious, he tentatively broke the silence, figuring he'd regret it as soon as he did. "Mom?"

She didn't look at him. And her voice was so cold when she instructed simply, "Get out of the car, Raymond."

He opened the door; when she was so unpredictable, he figured it was probably smart to have an out… just in case. But he didn't move. "You're not coming in?" he asked, trying to sound as casual as he could.

"No," she responded immediately, shaking her head. "I'm going to the hospital… Get out, Raymond," his mother repeated.

But he, of course, was beyond listening. Especially since he was already in trouble, it didn't really matter if he pissed her off some more. "You're going to the hospital?" he parroted dimly, not understanding.

"Yes," she replied unemotionally. "Now –"

But the rest of her sentence went unheard in his mind. Synapses firing angrily in his brain, realization struck him fiercely. The thought so mind blowing that it felt like a real blow to his face, Ray turned his body angrily to face her.

She was going to the hospital.

To see _him_.

To be with _Kyle_.

The one thing he'd been trying to _prevent_ being thrust upon him once more, Ray angrily said aloud, "No!"

Calmly, his mother told him, "This is not up for discussion." And it was then that she finally turned to look at him.

She looked so… _different_. Cold.

"You're _not_ going to see him," Ray hotly ordered.

An eyebrow raised, she asked him, "And what makes you think that _you_ have _any_ right to tell me what to do?" Her voice becoming more confrontational, his mother said, "_I_ am the parent. _You_ are not.I will do as I please, Raymond."

And even as some part of him recognized that to be true, another part could _not_ accept what she was doing. "You _can't_ go see him," he told her in a tone that wasn't diplomatic at all.

In a way that was condescending, she explained, "_Someone_ has to make sure that boy isn't going to file charges, and –"

"Then let Horatio do it," he argued. "He's the reason we're –"

"No," she interrupted immediately. "No, _you're_ the reason we're in this situation."

"But –"

"_You_ attacked Kyle, not Horatio. _You_ were _stupid_ enough to get into a fight on school grounds, not your uncle," she said, _literally_ pointing a finger at him.

Ray Junior could feel his face become red and heated with his anger. "Horatio's the one who brought that asshole into our lives to begin with!" Even if a tiny piece of him really didn't blame his uncle for this… in the moment, he had no problem saying it. Not if it stopped his mother from getting closer to this kid.

"This is your mess," she argued, leaving no room for further discussion in her viciously sharp tones. "And now it's up to _Mommy_ to clean it up." Her frown morphed into a sneer at the word, Mommy, which he hated.

He'd manipulated the word himself before… and he knew it hurt her, because it always seemed to work in throwing her off her game just a little bit. But… now that it was aimed at him, Ray Junior thought that, actually, it was a horrible thing to say. Because…

It stung.

But before he could say anything, she demanded once more, "Get out of the car."

He had no other choice, he realized. This was one of those times when she would not budge. Just like when she told him a few years ago that he _would_ be confirmed in the Catholic Church when it was time, even if she had to drag him to church on a leash, she was immovable. She'd _obviously_ made up her mind on going to the hospital, and his only other option was to beg.

_Beg_ and seriously _mean_ it.

Which unfortunately at this moment, Ray Junior knew he could do.

He could plead with her to stay here, beg her to not go near that boy. He could ask and cry and explain why he hated this so much. He could sob into her hair all the reasons he was too afraid to let this other kid become a part of the family.

He _could_ do those things.

But resolutely, the teenager decided _not_ to. As much as those things sounded tempting, as effective as they _might_ have been, there was still a chance that it wouldn't work. And truth be told, Ray wasn't sure he could handle his mother's rejection, not in this.

The pleas dying on his lips, he swallowed hard and got out of the car. Before he had a chance to slam the door, however, his mother spoke up, "No TV, no computer, no cell phone, no videogames – nothing _remotely_ enjoyable, hmm?"

"Fine," he replied petulantly.

"And if you're looking for something to do," she told him cuttingly. "Try calling your uncle and explaining why his _son_ is in the hospital."

They exchanged a dark look, two sets of nearly black eyes meeting with heated glares.

"_Fine_."

He slammed the door shut, and she peeled out of the driveway.

And all that was left then was Ray Junior, wondering where his plan had gone wrong exactly.

* * *

The case had led them to a home – well, more like a shanty – out in the Everglades. Hidden behind, probably, half a mile of swamp and mosquitoes, it looked like a single wind would knock over the pile of stripped wood and dusty glass.

Looking over each and every crevice of the outside, Horatio could already pick out where his evidence might come from. Pieces of wood in a person's shoe, a fingerprint on the glass… _something_ could help them.

And falling into that category was, unexpectedly, the pile of dead bodies contained in the shack. Standing side by side with him, Natalia replied dryly, "I think we're gonna need to call Alexx."

But that was, of course, easier said than done.

These days, it seemed part and parcel for the job that something would go wrong, that something unexpected would have a two-hour task take upwards of five. And today would be no exception to that.

Both CSIs pulling out their cell phones, the problem became immediately apparent. "No service," Horatio said simply.

Boa Vista sighed loudly. "Of course not… dispatch still working out the kinks with the new –"

"That is correct."

She let out another sigh. "Well, I guess one of us will have to baby sit the bodies while the other drives around and finds a signal."

It wasn't obvious in her voice, but casting a sideways glance at her, Horatio could tell... she didn't want to be the one stuck here. So he shrugged. "Why don't… you find us a signal?" he suggested with a smile.

Happily, she replied, "Great."

As Boa Vista left him alone with the bodies, Horatio frowned. This wasn't exactly part of the job that he _liked_. And standing over what had once been lives, he felt… a twinge of guilt; people deserved better than to be dumped into some old shack left for _him_ to find.

But the feeling passed as quickly as it came. Things shouldn't have been this way, he realized, but letting it affect him _now_ wasn't a good idea – not when he was on the job.

So finally sighing to himself, Horatio shifted around on his feet and waited.

It wasn't like he had anywhere else to be anyway.

* * *

He was alone in the emergency room. Sitting on an uncomfortable aluminum bench that dug into his legs, his nose bleeding and fingertips turned crimson, Kyle couldn't believe his luck.

Who else would be _this_ screwed over?

Nobody.

And as if to emphasize that point, his fingers slick with blood slipped suddenly as he lost hold of the tissue someone had given him. The reddened Kleenex falling to the ground, he was too focused on the hot pain radiating through his nose to care.

Blood continuing to dribble out of each nostril, Kyle wondered if it was ever gonna stop. Knowing his luck he'd probably bleed out in the ER and die. Which Horatio would probably _enjoy_, if he noticed that Kyle were gone at all. And if the man who was technically your father didn't give a crap, then you really couldn't expect anyone else to care.

Letting out a breath of air between his teeth, the teenager reached down between his legs to grab the fallen tissue. It was _completely_ unsanitary and frankly really gross, but since he'd gotten to the hospital, no one had come to see him. And this was all he had to catch the blood with, so…

What else was he supposed to do?

Apparently _not_ that as the almost familiar voice firmly ordered, "Don't do that."

The tissue sticking to his fingers, Kyle turned his head to face her. Yelina was honestly one of the last people he thought he'd see here… but at the same time, part of him felt it wasn't all that unexpected.

Rolling his eyes, he pressed the dirty tissue against his nose once again. "They said I had to stop the bleeding." Cocking his head to the side, Kyle said, "'Course that was like two hours ago, so clearly they're not too concerned with me kicking the bucket."

As Yelina sat down on the bench next to him, she asked, audibly concerned, "You haven't been seen yet?"

The temptation to say something sarcastic was almost too much to resist. But not really feeling like putting in the energy required to be caustic, Kyle merely offered a grumpy, "Obviously not."

She frowned then. But if she was upset by his bad attitude, she didn't say anything. Instead, her hands rummaging through her purse for a few seconds, Yelina pulled out a clean tissue. "We need to stop this – you must have been bleeding for quite a while, yes?"

Before he could object, she reached across his body and pulled his hand away. Her fingers deftly plucked the used Kleenex from his grasp. Done so swiftly that Kyle wondered how often she had had to do this sort of thing, she was quick in getting the new tissue around his nose before the blood trickled onto his lip.

For that, he _was_ grateful; being in the hospital was bad enough, but being able to taste your own blood made it all the more unbearable. And yet… the way she gripped his injured nose was something he did _not_ like.

Her index finger and thumb closing around in a vice, he couldn't help but whimper in pain. The reaction completely instinctual, he couldn't have held it back even if he tried.

When Yelina's grip didn't loosen, he decided to make his annoyance a little more obvious. "That _hurts_."

"I know," she said sympathetically, still maintaining her tight hold. "But it's important that you don't continue to bleed."

Kyle couldn't deny that that was true. But at the same time, he hardly thought that squeezing his nose as hard as she was doing was the answer. "It'll stop," he told her sullenly, carefully trying not to move.

As much as he wanted to move away from her grip, the teenager was also acutely aware of how much it would hurt to try and do that. That wasn't even taking into consideration what it would feel like if Yelina _held on_; in the likelihood of that happening, he was pretty sure he'd wish he'd never been born.

Well, more than this whole situation already _did_ make him wish for that, he told himself.

"It hasn't stopped yet," she pointed out. Her voice softer then (her grip just as firm), Yelina said, "Kyle, I know that it hurts, but you cannot continue to bleed and simply _hope_ that it will stop." She gave him a sad smile that he didn't feel like returning. Freely, she explained, "When my son was younger, he got into a lot of fights."

She paused at that moment, her words trailing off slowly. And though Kyle didn't understand why, he could see the pain in her eyes then. The emotion so evident that it was practically palpable (or maybe he had felt that way before), he forgot, if only for a second, that his nose was throbbing.

But as soon as he remembered what was wrong with his body, it seemed that Yelina realized where she was. Trying to shrug the emotion off, she corrected herself, "Still gets into fights, I suppose, if today is any indication."

The vice around his nose tightened around him ever so slightly, not enough that anyone else would notice, of course. But it was plenty for him to feel. And though the words hadn't been said, there was an implication here, one right at the tip of his tongue.

It took him a second to understand what Yelina was talking about. What had happened today that would make her say that? Obviously another fight, Kyle deduced. But what were the chances of two family members getting into two separate fights in the same day?

Probably high, considering the spectacularly messed up way the Caine family managed to make the unlikely _highly_ likely.

Then again…

Not that he knew her very well – or at all, really – but, if there were two fights, why was she here? Wouldn't she be home with her kid, then?

From his perspective, her actions made no sense, he thought, the question mulling in his mind. It made absolutely _no_ sense, Kyle repeated, unless…

His eyes widened in realization.

Her son had to have been the one who…

"That was your kid," he said numbly.

She nodded her head slowly. "Do you like him?" she asked, a wry smile playing at her lips.

There were many ways he could have answered the question, so many ways he could have explained to her just how much he'd like to beat the living crap out of that asshole. But all he said was, as sarcastically as he could manage, "Oh, yeah, I really _love_ psychopaths."

"Yes, well…" Her lips thinned in displeasure, although Kyle didn't know if that was because of what he said or because her kid really _was_ insane. But if it was because of him, Yelina didn't say anything. Her response was a dry, "He never did make a good first impression."

"I guess not."

Shrugging his words off, she returned to her original point. "Anyway, because of him, I've had to take care of several bloody noses. And this really is the best way to stop the bleeding – even though it hurts."

But even a minute later, he was still bleeding, and Kyle couldn't think that what she was saying was true.

As though sensing what he was thinking, Yelina explained, "I'll take a few minutes, Kyle."

"Oh." And then as an afterthought, he added, "That sucks."

They fell into a comfortable silence, quietly watching other people in the emergency room mill around. As time ticked by and Kyle was _still_ not seen, Yelina leaned back in her chair, carefully keeping her grip on his nose. Her body now uncomfortably closer to him, he didn't like the near contact. They weren't touching, but that didn't matter; she was so close that he could practically feel her body heat, and Kyle wanted to pull away.

He wasn't sure why, really. The discomfort he was feeling originated from some place so completely _irrational_. It wasn't like she was dirty or gross; she was beautiful, and that might be the reason, but then… She didn't seem quite as intimidating as before, and too, she was his _aunt_, he supposed. So that pretty much cancelled out the hotness.

Nevertheless, he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable by the closeness.

And that feeling was only amplified when the bleeding stopped and she stood up. For whatever reason, the sudden _loss_ of nearness made him feel… sad? Disappointed?

Kyle didn't really know what the name for it was. Didn't know how to describe the emotions flitting through him; all he knew was that when she said she was going to find a doctor, he wished she had stayed where she was.

All he knew was that…

He didn't want her to go.

_End (53/??)_


	54. Chapter 53: Sacrifices Obvious & Unseen

Author's Notes: Thanks to Becky for the review. I'm glad you enjoy reading each chapter as much as I enjoy writing them. Also thank you to Ashley Moore for your thoughts. Truthfully Kyle does_ not_ see Yelina as a mother figure. But he is… acutely aware that they have an affinity for one another, an understanding that he doesn't even really have with Horatio. Of course, I must thank RedHotLover. It's been a year or so since I started this fic, and you've pretty much stuck with this piece the entire time. Thank you so much. Also thanks to mewpurin-chan for the review. Your comments mean so much to me. I really appreciate it.

Most importantly, thank you to my beta for all of her help.

_Disclaimer: I don't own it. _

**No Other One  
****Chapter Fifty-Three: Sacrifices Obvious and Unseen  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_We have so much time and so little to do. Strike that, reverse it." – Roald Dahl, __Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_

Finding a hospital employee to see Kyle was easier than she'd thought it would be.

Preying on the male nurse whose gaze hadn't strayed from her cleavage so far, Yelina deftly manipulated him. It was so easy; a few comments about how she _really_ needed her nephew to be looked at and a sickeningly sweet smile was all it took before he caved.

"I can't guarantee that he'll be seen immediately," the nurse had explained. "But I can get him a room to –"

Yelina interrupted kindly, "I understand." But pretending to hesitate, she pressed onward, "I know you're _very_ busy. But… I am so worried about my nephew, and it would break my heart," she drawled out slowly. Her voice and eyes filled with concern, but it was the way her delicate fingers covered her heart and drew attention to her breasts that intrigued the male nurse. "If something happened to him," she finished, knowing the stranger would give her exactly what she wanted.

And he did.

Of course, flirtation had its downside; as the two adults walked back to Kyle, she couldn't help but notice the way the man's pace slowed. Now falling behind her, he had a perfect view of her backside.

Which she did _not_ appreciate.

Frowning deeply, Yelina forced herself to keep walking and to ignore what he was doing. Ultimately, she told herself, this was… worth it; if it meant Kyle would be seen soon, it was an acceptable price to pay.

Although…

A part of her was almost instantly aware of how odd the situation was. Not just because Ray Junior had condemned her for such behavior only a brief time ago. Not simply because Horatio had found this boy or because her own son had taken it upon himself to _hit_ Kyle.

Those things registered in her mind as bizarre enough to be unbelievable, but they did not confuse her nearly as much as her own burgeoning feelings for Kyle did.

And thinking about it some more, Yelina understood that… she didn't feel _conflicted_ by her feelings. Nowhere inside of her did she feel that she _shouldn't_ like Kyle or that she _shouldn't_ care about him.

Truthfully, she wondered how she _could_ be obligated to think or feel _anything_ in this situation. The whole scenario unique, surely there weren't… guidelines for her to follow. Of all the things she remained unconvinced of in the world, the existence of a self-help book entitled, "How to Behave when your Brother-in-law, who's not _just_ your Brother-in-law, Brings home a Street Urchin," was _not_ one of them.

In her mind, Yelina was sure that she could react to this situation however she wanted to, could react to Kyle however she wanted to without much reproach. And yet her concern for him didn't seem any less bizarre for her.

She didn't _know_ him. As much as she had learned about his circumstances, she didn't have any real knowledge of who he was now. Favorite foods, hobbies, and the like – those things were still completely unknown to her. And from her few experiences with Kyle, Yelina suspected those bits of information would _stay_ that way.

Just like his father, the teenager didn't seem easy to get close to.

Despite that, though, she couldn't help but find herself feeling… protective of Kyle, concerned for his wellbeing. And that made her confused, even if she was ultimately unwilling to change that fact.

As Yelina and the male nurse rounded a corner, she was dismayed to see Kyle sitting by himself, exactly how she'd left him.

_Where_ was Horatio, she asked herself angrily.

He should have been there by now, should have _known_ that dealing with _this_ was more important than any case he could have been working on. Of course, her brother-in-law couldn't know that it was Ray Junior who hit Kyle. She rationally understood that it just wasn't feasible for Horatio to know that the divide in their family was growing.

But by now, and it would have been a few hours since he'd initially gotten the call, he should have absolutely known that Kyle was in the hospital.

That Horatio didn't know – or didn't care enough to show up – was damning in her eyes. The sight of her nephew all alone in the hospital proof enough of Horatio's faults, Yelina felt the fire light up inside of her. The smoldering remains of her anger from all of the horrible events in the past week were stoked by her sudden ire.

How could Horatio do this?

The question seized hold of her mind, the query applicable to so many of his recent actions that she wanted to slap him the moment she saw him. And rising above all of that was a fierce need to care for Kyle. The origins of her concern seemingly unknown and cemented in fire, she was _absolutely_ going to see her nephew through this.

Even if it meant widening the chasm with everyone else.

Her pace picking up, Yelina quickly closed the remaining distance to Kyle.

"Get your things," she told him gently. The teenager hesitated to grab the backpack tucked securely behind his legs. She encouraged with a smile, "Come on. This man is going to take you to the –"

"You're not coming?" Kyle asked. The words were uttered cautiously, _casually_, but something about his posture was guarded and closed off. And seeing the subtle look of fear in his eyes, Yelina could tell that…

He didn't want her to go.

Which was fine with her, because she had no intention of doing so.

Reassuringly, she explained, "I will. But first I want to call Horatio, and I can't do that in the room."

"No cell phones in the hospital," the male nurse confirmed, interrupting what felt like a private conversation.

Kyle's only response was a slight nod of the head. But as he stood up, she couldn't leave it at just that. "I'll come find you when I'm done," Yelina told him. Her gaze never leaving his own, she thought he didn't seem entirely convinced. But if he believed she was going to abandon him, he didn't share it with her.

Another nod of his head was all he gave her before following the male nurse.

Satisfied that she could leave him, Yelina turned and quietly exited the hospital. Her heels lightly scuffed on the pavement as she stepped outside, her hair blowing in the warm breeze.

Quickly she dialed Horatio's cell phone.

Which he, of course, didn't answer.

And in an odd way, she had almost expected him not to. As she left him a message about Kyle, Yelina couldn't help but feel like this had all been anticipated. Sad as it was for her to think it, the truth was…

Horatio hadn't _ever_ been there for his son.

And even if Horatio was trying to fix that, trying to become a father, that still took time. That still took a concerted effort. One that he was probably willing to give, she could concede; but either way, parenting didn't come easily.

Having had years to take on all the responsibilities, Yelina knew it took time. Time to remember your cell phone and to remember what the number of the school looked like; time to recognize that your work would suffer at times based on your child's needs. Which her brother-in-law might have recognized in theory, might have understood that that was what he needed to do.

But it was something else entirely to put it into practice.

Especially with someone as quiet and unassuming as Kyle, Yelina worried that it was probably… _easy_ to forget him.

That thought planted firmly in her mind, she stuffed her cell phone back in her purse and returned to Kyle.

The room the nurse had put him in was nice; the walls a subtle green color that was edged with a blue trim exuded sterile calm. And yet looking at her nephew, who currently sat on the white hospital bed, Yelina could see… he was anything _but_ relaxed.

His insistent gaze met hers, a question being silently asked.

"I didn't speak with Horatio," she told him. "But I left him a message, so –"

Interrupting her, he brushed it off. "Doesn't matter."

But of course it _did_ matter, and the sad quality to his voice made it sound like he recognized that just as much as she did.

Yelina knew, however, that she couldn't say anything. Couldn't correct him, tell him that Horatio not being here did matter, because… that would only call attention to her brother-in-law's absence.

And what good would that do?

Sighing, she closed the distance between the door and the bed. Now by his side, she asked, "Did the doctor see you?"

Kyle shook his head, a loose strand of blond hair falling in his eyes. "Not yet… although I've already been asked how I got hurt." He looked at her carefully then, clearly trying to gauge her reaction.

But truthfully, Yelina didn't know how to feel about it. On the one hand, Ray Junior going to jail was _horrifying_, and part of her wanted nothing more than to prevent that from happening. But… on the other hand, she rationally understood that Kyle had _no_ reason to lie. And frankly, after what her son had done to him, she'd be shocked if Kyle had even considered making up an excuse.

"So I guess I'll need to start collecting the bail money, hmm?" Her voice was even, calm, her humor dry. It was probably _not_ the reaction Kyle was anticipating, but what other choice did she have?

Crying? Yelling? Giving up? None of those things were viable options, at least not in this particular moment.

"I didn't tell – I made something up," the teenager told her slowly, shifting around on the thin mattress. "I didn't know…" His voice trailed off. Never finishing the thought, he didn't say anything else. Didn't do anything other than look at her for some sort of response.

Which he got immediately. "Thank you," she said quietly, honestly. And wanting him to know that she hadn't expected that of him, Yelina began to say, "You know, Kyle… I didn't come here to –"

But her words were immediately cut off by the sound of the door behind her opening and the doctor coming in. "Kyle… Harmon?"

Both aunt and nephew nodded their heads in unison, sharing a private look that said they were being interrupted. That said all of the things their voices had not.

00000000000000000

"You think I got I a secret army of medical examiners, Horatio?" Alexx raised an eyebrow at him, the look reminding them both that dealing with spree killers was tedious.

Shifting on his feet, he said, "The night crew –"

"Already working on the last handful of bodies you found," she told him honestly. Her eyes darting back and forth between the cadavers, Alexx said, "Unless you got an army of Oompa Loompas…"

Horatio smiled as she crouched down to look at the body closest to her. "Hey, I saw the sign when I was driving past the school. The kids trying out?"

"Hmm," Alexx replied with a nod. Her attention was still focused on the work in front of her, but she said, "Both Janie and Bryan are auditioning for Charlie." Horatio smirked at the idea. "It's all part of the school's desire to be 'more inclusive,' whatever they mean by that. Last I heard they even changed Wonka's job so that the other children wouldn't be tempted to eat chocolate."

In all honesty, Horatio only had a vague recollection of the book; memories of reading it with Ray Junior had fallen prey to the older man's age. Though he wasn't… _old_, somehow those exact moments had begun to blur and fade. And while Horatio could still remember how his nephew had loved the part with the squirrels (or had they been geese?), he could not recall much else. "That sounds… interesting."

"Mmm hmm. This man's been dead since six am." As was her way, Alexx looked at the body sympathetically, as though he were still there, still able to understand her.

Which, if he thought about it for any length of time, was actually… _horrible_. To not only die, but to stick around to hear their conversations? There were no words to describe how deeply wrong that was.

"The others look older than that," Horatio said.

When she moved to another body, she nodded her head. "Given the level of decomp, I'd say this boy has been here at _least_ a week." As her fingers gingerly prodded around the bullet wound, Alexx noted, "This all seems a little… long for a killing spree."

Horatio murmured his assent. "I guess… our murderer has been having… a bad month."

She rolled her eyes. "Uh uh. A bad month is dealing with two children who _haven't_ been cast in the school play. This is…"

His gaze narrowed on her. "You don't think they'll get a part?"

Moving onto the next body, Alexx shrugged. "I love my children, Horatio. They're wonderful – _perfect_. But they cannot sing."

"There's singing?"

She offered another shrug. "I… don't know. Maybe?" The work that needed to be done seemed forgotten then, the bodies untouched and unnoticed. Sighing, she said, "It's been so long since I've had a chance to do things with the kids that I'm surprised they remember who I am."

The admittance hung in the damp air, leaving Horatio unsure of what to say. Was he supposed to offer her time off, despite knowing that the case _required_ her expertise? Did he offer sympathetic words?

With someone else, he might have known what to say or do. But with Alexx… things were different. Because as close as they were, as well as they knew one another, there was _no_… real intimacy between them.

And she had _never_ needed him before, never needed his comfort, which made the idea of giving it seem even more foreign to him.

But before he could say anything, she interrupted, "Don't worry – you'll have your bodies taken care of."

"I had no doubt," Horatio replied earnestly.

"There's absolutely _no way_ I'm gonna let the hacks from night handle this."

They shared a knowing look, but he felt the need to press anyway. "You sure you don't want –"

"I love my job," she declared, conviction in her voice. "But I gotta tell you – sometimes… it's like I walk out the house in the morning, and when I come back, the kids have aged five years." She glanced back at Horatio then. "I love my job, but I am _acutely_ aware that it takes me away from my kids."

And with those words, the conversation was over. Having crept into territory that strayed too far from their profession, they turned back to the issue at hand – to their work. Silence descended over them, save for when Alexx needed to point out something unique about one of the victims.

But there was no further mention of children; only a lingering sense of guilt, he supposed, proved that they'd had that conversation at all. And while he was sure it hadn't been her intentions, Horatio's thoughts quickly turned to Kyle.

He knew rationally that it made no sense for him to think about his… son. The job so far had _not_ truly taken him away from the boy, had not asked him to choose between one or the other. True, Horatio had worked around and within the law to get Kyle probation, but…

There hadn't been any real sacrifice.

At least not professionally.

Yet.

But if Alexx's words were true, which he suspected they were, then… at some point, he _would_ have to make a choice.

It was only just a matter of time.

_End (54/??)_


	55. Chapter 54: Abilities, Affinities, Etc

Author's Notes: Thank you to mewpurin-chan, OkieBeth05, Mrs. Darcy1234, NYT, RedHotLover, and Mardahin for reviewing! I apologize that it has taken so long to update, but all of your comments meant so much to me and spurred me to keep writing. Before we get to the next chapter, I'd just like to comment on something a bunch of people mentioned – Horatio's cell phone. Remember that in the last chapter or so, Natalia had to leave the crime scene, because there was no cell service. So Horatio could look down at his phone and see that he had missed calls, in theory, but he wouldn't be able to hear any of the messages.

Anyway, thanks for the reviews. And thank you to my beta for her help.

Please read and review.

_Disclaimer: The show isn't mine._

**No Other One  
****Chapter Fifty-Four: Abilities, Affinities, and Connections  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy – it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others." – Jane Austen_

The smell of latex gloves warred with the distinct scent of her perfume. A bizarre combination of plastic, flowers, and the powder used to make the gloves slide on easier, it made Kyle's stomach twist and turn.

Or maybe it was the sight of the needle embedded in his _face_ that made him want to barf all over himself. The syringe right in front of his eyes, it was impossible to think of anything else, impossible to forget the slight pinch and pressure. Try as he might, the view from his perspective was one he couldn't pretend to care less about. The cloak of indifference he was so used to wearing had its defects and holes, Kyle realized, and it could not protect him from the uncomfortable feeling of needles being depleted in his face.

Nor did it do much good in defending him against Yelina, who currently had an arm around him.

And it was then that he realized what was making his stomach do flip-flops.

Yelina.

More than the bizarre smell in the room, more than the pain and the needle – it was _her _and her inexplicable closeness. It was the arm splayed across his shoulders and the fingers curled reassuringly into his forearm. It was the way her long curls tickled the flesh of his cheek and the way he thought he could feel the warmth radiating off of her body. And as completely unisexual as the whole thing was, it still made him completely uncomfortable.

Just her _presence_ made him want to pull away.

"Okay," the doctor said, interrupting his epiphany. "We're going to wait a few minutes for the Lidocaine to take effect, and then we'll see if your nose is broken, Kyle."

He nodded his head in understanding, bothered by the way his cheek rubbed against the outside of Yelina's suit coat.

Not that he had any intention of saying anything.

As much as it bothered him, Kyle was aware that… it _didn't_ bother him. Which didn't really make any sense to him, so he couldn't say anything, because how could he even _begin_ to explain it to anyone else? How could he say that it was weird for him to be this close to someone without it being sexual and without an ulterior motive?

There were no words to explain it, and worse still, it sounded pathetic, even in his own mind. So there was _no way_ Kyle was going to start chatting about it.

Which only left him with thinking about it to himself.

And that was fine. The past week or so had had so many changes, so many revelations, that he was more than content to ponder away. Especially considering the doctor was beginning to poke around his nose, he was eager for the distraction.

Fingers prodding gently at him, Kyle tried not to think about it and instead focused his attention on the other matter at hand – Yelina. Truth be told, he wasn't sure what to make of the contact. He'd never… or no, that wasn't true. There had been a time when someone had touched him like this – reassuringly and gently, seemingly without motive. But it had been so long since his mother's death that that time felt more like a dream than anything real. And frankly, if it hadn't been for the fact that he _existed_, Kyle would have probably believed that his mother had never been a real person, had never been anything more than a figment of his imagination.

It had been _so fucking long_ that he no longer knew, if he had ever known, how to respond to it. And even if he did have an idea of how to react, he wasn't sure what Yelina wanted from him.

So Kyle sat there rigidly, his back ramrod straight, hoping that the whole thing would be over soon.

"Well, it's not broken," the doctor informed them, still poking around. But then she asked, "Are you in pain, Kyle?"

His answer was a suspicious, "No."

Giving him a toothy smile, she told him, "Just wonderin'. You seem awfully tense."

And it was _that_ statement that made Yelina react; her free hand reaching upward, she gently stroked through his hair once, her fingers pushing back strands of his thick blond hair. The act so natural and maternal, it was almost dizzying how she could make him feel so… resentful and relaxed all with one touch.

Her hazel eyes trained on him, he thought she must have known how he was feeling, must have sensed it as mothers (even if she weren't _his_ mother) did.

Or maybe mothers didn't _really_ know that – what another person was thinking and feeling, that was. Maybe that had been little more than a stereotype, something Kyle had unknowingly picked up from television.

His sight skittering away from the doctor's gaze to look out the window, he allowed himself to think back to the time his mother had been alive. A dangerous thing to do, he knew. Something he rarely let himself do, thanks to the horrible memories and longing that usually arose from doing so.

But looking back on it now, the teenager couldn't remember if his own mother had been intuitive in the same way Yelina seemed to be. As the doctor stepped away from him, part of him thought she _couldn't_ have been; women who were murdered didn't –

The window into that time period was abruptly slammed shut, his mind refusing to even _think_ the end of the thought.

His eyes began to sting with the threat of tears; his throat starting to burn with the taste of bile, he abruptly turned away from the window – as though it had somehow been responsible. Whipping his head around without thought, Kyle found himself looking at Yelina.

Her eyes immediately assessing him, a stricken look, matching exactly how he felt, slowly overtook her features.

He quickly looked away.

"He'll be fine," the doctor announced. "Although he'll obviously want to avoid receiving anymore trauma to the face. I'll write a prescription for Tylenol with Codeine, which you can fill at our pharmacy, for the pain."

"Wonderful," Yelina replied, although it was obvious her attention was completely on him; he could feel her eyes on him still, and he wished she would find something else to focus on.

But that didn't seem likely anytime soon, because even _after_ he'd gotten off of the hospital bed, she _still_ kept an arm around him.

In fact, it was only when they'd left the room and Kyle had deliberately pulled himself away from her that the contact was broken. The uncomfortable closeness now gone, he started to feel his body calm down; his heart ceasing to pound in his ears, his stomach contents returning to his stomach, he began to feel better – even as he felt his nose begin to burn and ache once more.

Turning to face him, Yelina said, "All right, sweetheart, I'm sure you're ready to leave the hospital and get home, so –"

"I don't have keys," Kyle interrupted, trying _not_ to think about the term of endearment she'd slipped in just then. "To the house," he lamely finished after a brief pause.

"Oh" was her shocked response. Her tongue running along her teeth, she took her own pause. And he couldn't help but watch her, look for her response. Because as much as he didn't want to let her see parts of himself… he couldn't deny his own curiosity towards her. If only because it would give him information he could use, Kyle wanted to know what she thought.

And it was obvious what she thought; her eyes darkened for a second, her lips turning downward into a frown. The way she looked, he thought Yelina was going to say something insulting or angry.

But if that's what he was expecting, it definitely _wasn't_ what she had in mind. The brief emotion quickly giving way to something softer, she gave a tiny shake of her head. Her curls bouncing ever so slightly, when she stopped moving, she looked calm once more. Her anger _gone_, Kyle couldn't help but think she was like one of those Etch-a-Sketches he'd played with as a child. Just as the dark gray image would disappear when the older kids snatched it and shook the board, so too did the dark look on her face.

Sounding unconcerned, she continued, "Well, that makes two of us."

"You don't have a key," he repeated in disbelief.

"No." A forced smile on her face, Yelina told him, "So… while you wait in line for your medication, I will take care of the bill and call your father… _again_." Her irritation was audible on the last word, the tone laced with disdain.

And that made him wonder if her annoyance was at Horatio or at the possibility of being stuck with him.

Standing there in front of her, Kyle supposed it could be either. Or both even, because his self-appointed-but-totally-absent father had _said_ she was mad at him. _And_ Kyle couldn't imagine Yelina being pleased at being _forced_ to take care of her brother-in-law's kid.

But if she were mad at Kyle _himself_, that was kind of stupid. Unfair too, but mainly stupid, because it wasn't like _he_ had planned on _her_ son attacking him or Horatio being an unreliable douche bag.

Kyle's response was a forced, "Okay," before unceremoniously walking away from her. Afraid of what he _might_ tell her if he stood in front of her another minute, he stalked towards the direction of the hospital's pharmacy.

As he followed the big, bright signs to his destination, he couldn't help but think that this was _not_ his fault. There'd been things that he'd done that he wasn't proud of, things that he _absolutely_ could and should have been blamed for.

But this wasn't one of them.

This _wasn't_ his fault, he told himself.

And if Yelina really was annoyed at him, then…

Then that was her problem, he thought with finality.

His gaze turning steely, his posture becoming stiff, Kyle waited in line all by himself. There were only a few people in front of him, maybe four or five. But the wait seemed undesirably infinite to him; the pain in his nose returning with a vengeance, it was enough to make him wish he had the medicine right then and there.

Of course, time held his ache in no regard and passed by as slowly as humanly possible. And as each minute meandered along, as each person ahead of him decided to take their time asking question after question, Kyle's nose throbbed more and more, each wave of pain becoming stronger and longer.

His hand instinctively reaching up to rub the sore area, he mused how much worse it was to _not_ have Yelina round as a distraction. And just as he did so, he heard the telltale sound of her heels on the linoleum floor. Turning around to see her right before she had a chance to surprise him, Kyle heard her say, "Don't touch – it'll hurt worse."

He willfully chose to do the opposite of what she advised by pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Pretended not to hear her in the same way she pretended not to hear his hiss of pain seconds later.

Sighing, Kyle dropped his hand and, annoyed, suspicious, mentioned, "You made it through that line awfully fast."

She glanced back to where she'd been with a shrug. "They told me you would need a receipt in order to get your medicine; I went fast."

His instinct was to say something sarcastic and rude like, "Who'd you have to flash to go _that_ quick?" But truthfully, Kyle didn't have it in him to say that; as uncomfortable as she made him, as _weird_ as it was to have her around, it was better than nothing. _Much_ better than nothing, because…

Kyle wasn't sure that she cared. If anything, he sort of doubted that she did. Really, who _did_ care about new, random family members that popped out of nowhere? He doubted that Yelina did, although not nearly as much as he doubted _Horatio's_ intentions.

Nevertheless, he didn't feel the need to insult her; whatever her reasons were, _without_ her, Kyle knew he'd still be waiting to be seen by a doctor. The slightest bit of gratitude washing through him, he told her, "Thanks."

Her response was a smile and watery eyes, was one that made him wonder if she'd never been told thank you before in her life. And he felt an affinity for her then, felt connected to her in a way that made absolutely no sense. Both raw and honest in that single moment, they were so different but so similar that, looking at her, Kyle thought he could only see himself.

But just as he was about to say something, they were _once again_ interrupted, this time by the pharmacist. "Prescription, please."

And as he lazily handed over the square piece of paper, Kyle knew it was for the best – that he hadn't had a chance to say something to Yelina. Because now, with the moment over, he could see that _no_, they weren't the same, that _no, _she didn't care what he was thinking.

His mouth firmly shut, he listened impatiently to the pharmacist describe the side effects of the medication and mention that he needed to take it with food, blah, blah, blah.

Of course, as soon as the pills were in his hands, Kyle didn't care what the proper procedure was for taking the stupid things. Not that he was a junkie or anything, although weed was pretty nice, but he _was_ in pain. And the sooner his nose stopped bothering him, the sooner he could focus on other things – like holding Yelina at bay or thinking about what he was going to say to Horatio.

But as soon as he'd managed to pry off the childproof cap, she stopped him by asking, "Have you eaten anything?"

"No," he answered almost immediately. But surely, it didn't really matter. "Afraid I'm gonna puke in your car?" he asked accusingly.

She raised an eyebrow at the question, but in her eyes, he could see that that possibility was crossing her mind. "Hardly."

"Uh huh. You look like you're about to break out into hives if –"

One of her hands curling around his elbow, Yelina pulled him towards the cafeteria. Or at least that was where he thought they were going, the bright lights and semi-enticing smells noticeable from where they were. The contact once more distracting and unwanted, it was with effort that he heard her admit, "Kyle, as undesirable as it would be _for me_ to witness you vomit, I would _think_ that such an experience would be, in fact, worse from _your_ perspective."

She let go of him then, using her free hand to hold the door to the cafeteria open. Pretending to think about the matter at hand, Yelina said, "But I don't know… maybe it is nice to throw up while your nose is –"

"Fine," he caved, not wanting to think about how much _that_ would hurt. But as he started to walk through the doorway, Kyle remembered. "But I don't have any cash," he blurted out before he could stop himself.

"Not a problem," she dismissed, her hand on his back as she gently pushed him in the rest of the way.

Trying to turn around, Kyle protested, "But –"

Her voice soft and sweet, Yelina told him, "Lets not worry about that, okay?"

And though it didn't feel right, for whatever reason, he couldn't argue anymore.

* * *

The sky was clouding ominously around them, and even though they were technically inside a shack, Horatio doubted the thatched roof would protect them from the weather. Still knee deep in trace on the bodies, they hadn't even begun to process the rest of the room (aside from making clear paths to the victims, naturally). And, although Horatio _hated_ doing things out of their natural order, he knew this one of those times where they would have to be.

"You praying the weather's gonna be cooperative?" Alexx asked, as if hearing his thoughts.

He smirked, despite knowing that she, still kneeling on the ground, couldn't see it. "Hmm. I have my doubts."

"You want to hold off on trace?" she asked, her hands cupping the cheeks of the last victim.

He was about to say that they were more than likely going to have to, but he was abruptly interrupted by Natalia. "We're _leaving?_" she asked. "But I just got _here_. And Ryan's on his way. I had a flat tire and –"

"_And_ there's still the rest of the scene to process, Ms. Boa Vista," he informed her, his eyes peering at her over his sunglasses.

Deflating a little, she responded with a nod of the head, "Right."

"But since you are interested in staying," he said slowly, "_I_… will accompany Alexx back to lab."

It happened so fast that it practically felt as though Natalia wasn't aware of what was going on until Horatio and Alexx had carefully packed all the bodies up. And indeed, the dumbfounded look on the younger woman's face put a smile on _his_ face as he drove away from her.

But the lighthearted feeling didn't last.

Five minutes or so after he'd left, Horatio heard the telltale beep of his cell phone, once more confirming that his ability to be father was one he'd yet to demonstrate.

_End (55/??)_


	56. Chapter 55: The Mechanics of Yelina

Author's Notes: Thank you to Mrs. Darcy1234, NYT, and to the other anonymous reviewer. I really love hearing what you have to say, and I appreciate it so much. As far as updates go, I do hope to be able to update quicker these next few weeks. Thank you for your patience. Also, thanks to my beta, Olly, for helping me immensely.

Please read and review.

_Disclaimer: Yeah, they're not mine._

**No Other One  
****Chapter Fifty-Five: The Mechanics of Yelina Salas  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_But reason has no power against feeling, and feeling older than history is no light matter." – Charlotte Perkins Gilman_

The messages came one after the other, the voices of the school's principal and Yelina giving him updates over and over. The common thread, Kyle and the implied, "Where _are_ you, Horatio," it was enough to make the redhead feel sick to his stomach.

He had failed.

_Again_.

And just like before, he hadn't even _tried_ to hurt Kyle. There'd been no premeditation, no plan to choose his job over his child.

But…

That was exactly what had happened.

With a sigh, he snapped the phone shut and set it aside. An overbearing sense of defeat overtaking him, Horatio wondered if he would ever be the kind of father Kyle deserved. Hell, at this point, the redhead would have settled for being someone who remotely acted like a father. Because, where they were now… Horatio wasn't _anything_ to this boy, much less a _father_.

There was no closeness between them, no… _love_.

The only thing they seemed to have an abundance of were awkward moments, pregnant pauses, and… Actually, that was about it, he thought grimly.

As he headed back towards the city, the rational part of his mind realized that it was too much to expect things to be all that different. He hadn't spent enough time with Kyle, honestly. They hadn't… done things together, aside from the few bureaucratic details that they'd had to take care of. Which was important, sure, but there was nothing there to bond them.

Horatio supposed that would change – no, he was _determined_ to change that.

And the first step to doing that _had_ to be apologizing for not being there – today and every day previous to this one.

Horatio reached out for his cell phone, which was currently nestled in his empty cup holder. The light plastic feeling weighty in his hand, he realized almost immediately that Kyle would need one of his own. Not that it would have done much good in this situation, Horatio realized. But if Kyle got into any more fights, it would be necessary.

Assuming the reckless teen wasn't immediately sent to prison.

Of course, that was assuming, Horatio thought wryly, that Kyle wasn't _already_ being placed in a cop car and taken away.

That disturbing image taunting his mind, he pressed down on the accelerator a little more. The prospect of his son's future was darkening, even more than it had already been shaded. And Horatio could _feel_ it happening, making him wish more than ever before that he was already home.

Or in the very least more aware of what was going on.

The messages he'd received had been _painfully_ vague. The school had called three times – the first to announce that there'd been a fight. The second had been more disturbing, had said that they were sending Kyle to the hospital for his nose. And the third, somewhere between sad and frightening, announced that they _might_ consider keeping the boy in school.

Hardly reassuring.

Not that the rest were any better.

Yelina's, if that were possible, were even _more_ vague. Her voice barely containing her confusion and contempt, she had said she was with Kyle and eventually that he was okay. Which was great news, but it hardly answered any of the questions Horatio had.

Why was she there?

Why was she with Kyle at _all_?

Horatio was sure he hadn't mentioned her to the school. Doing so would have only created more questions in the principal's mind, the redhead had believed. And frankly, Horatio had no interest in opening _that_ can of worms if he didn't absolutely have to.

On the one hand, he supposed that someone from the school could have figured it out. Try as they might to avoid it, the Caine family _was_ known in Miami. First Raymond's suspicious death and then every sordid and sexy investigation since – the news had taken to reporting on them occasionally. And while Horatio had come to ignore it, as well as anyone could, he understood that… others might _not_ ignore it.

Thinking about it a moment longer, Horatio guessed that that theory was as good as any; maybe even better, because it had to be more realistic than his second option – which was that Kyle had somehow managed to get his hands on Yelina's phone number and called her himself.

Truthfully, _that_ hardly seemed like an alternative explanation at all. Because, yes, before she had known the truth, Yelina had appeared to be… not protective but _concerned_ about Kyle. Never willing to admit that he had been the one to attack her, she had almost seemed more interested in accusing Horatio himself of misdeeds. And while that might make his son believe she was trustworthy, Horatio doubted that Kyle, who was the most stoic person he'd ever met, had called her. That would have required a _tremendous_ amount of faith, something the boy surely couldn't have after Horatio had essentially implied that Yelina hated them both.

Which made the redhead think of another question. Regardless of how she found out about Kyle's fight, none of that could explain why she _went_ to the hospital.

She had no reason to go, no real personal connection to the boy. She might not have been interested in admitting that Kyle had attacked her, but that was hardly the same thing as actual _affection_ for the teenager; really all that had been proof of was her stubbornness, her refusal to admit that some things were out of her control, that some times she _did_ need Horatio around. And even if Kyle himself had misinterpreted what she was up to, surely, _Yelina_ wouldn't feel the need to drive out to the hospital because of it.

Maneuvering the Hummer around a particularly slow car, Horatio asked himself again:

Why had she gone to Kyle?

When she was so furious about what had happened, what in the world could have happened to make her change her mind? What could make her take time out of her day to go to Kyle?

The CSI had no idea.

It was his _job_ to make connections, find links, and deduce, but when it came to _this_, he had no earthly idea what was going on. And why should he, he thought viciously to himself. He barely talked to Yelina these days. Ever since he'd sent her to Rio, she had… erected this wall between them. She no longer came to him, no longer trusted him to help her, it seemed.

Which Horatio knew was probably his own fault, his own doing. But that didn't make it any easier to take. That didn't make him feel any happier about the situation. Because, even if he'd caused this to happen, he didn't like being this distant from her.

He _liked_ helping her.

He _liked_ being involved in her life.

As hard as it was to admit that out loud at times, it was the truth. He liked doing things for her and being around her and Ray Junior; it made him… _happy_.

And regardless of how they got to this point or why they were there, Horatio didn't like being cut out of her life. Removed from all the sweeter moments, all the tiny little incidents that put a smile on his face, he seemed to only be around these days when he'd screwed up. Not even around anymore for Ray Junior's mistakes, Horatio realized that they only talked when Yelina was mad at him or when he needed her professionally.

Which meant…

They weren't really family anymore.

Over the last two years, they'd gone from family and friends to mere strangers. Or maybe not _strangers_, because there was still all the subtext. They still had all of those memories of each other and of time spent together. And although there was distance, a chasm that seemed to widen every instance they were near each other these days, between them now, Horatio hadn't forgotten what they'd shared together. Hadn't failed to notice what they _could have _had together, had he not pushed her away.

It wasn't, was _not_, he told himself, about wanting her in any romantic sense. Even if he really did want her in that way, he was _not_ going to act on those feelings out of respect for his dead brother. He was _not_ going to do that, and it was _not_ about losing her as a potential _girlfriend_.

That particular word making his stomach clench painfully, Horatio told himself that his problem was more basic than that. It wasn't about romance as much as it was about family, as it was about _once again_, being unable to keep a family member around.

His mood darkening even further, he glanced down briefly at his phone. He should call her, he realized. If only to see how Kyle was doing, he should talk to her.

But… in his heart, Horatio knew that he couldn't do that just yet.

Because, if he could work so hard to do the right thing with her and _still_ drive her away, then what was the point in trying with Kyle? What was the point in working to make things right with the boy if the only thing they would ever get from it was heartache?

He sighed immediately, no answer coming to mind. Dejectedly, Horatio placed the phone back in his cup holder. He couldn't call, not right now, not until _this_ particular question had an answer. Because if he couldn't figure out what the point in trying to have a relationship with Kyle or anyone else for that matter was, then a phone call would do absolutely no good.

Shifting slightly in the driver's seat, Horatio tried to stop himself from going down this mental road any further. Unconvincingly he told himself that… Kyle and Yelina were not the same person, that things didn't have to end the exact same way. _She_ might have decided that they no longer needed to be friends, that they didn't need to interact anymore. But Kyle might be different, Horatio thought half-heartedly.

And just as weakly, the redhead reminded himself that Kyle was his son, and that meant that Horatio had an _obligation_ to try with the boy.

They just _had_ to.

Even if he didn't want to, Horatio had to try.

Which was, admittedly, probably not the way to pursue the matter, probably not going to gain the boy's trust.

But…

Horatio didn't have anything else to offer at the moment. Burned by the past too often and too severe, he no longer had, he thought, that innate ability to open up and love another human being. Maybe he'd never had that, he considered truthfully. But either way, after his father had killed his mother, and Horatio himself had killed his father, after his brother and wife… after Yelina left and never really came back…

After all of it, Horatio was mere remnants of who he'd once been. The leftover bits hardly deserving to be Kyle's father, he knew that it would never be enough for the boy.

But Horatio had to try. Even if all he had left was a bizarre, obsessive sense of duty, he had to try to make things right with boy.

And yet…

As he continued to drive towards Miami, Horatio couldn't help but notice how his foot had eased off the accelerator.

* * *

Yelina watched Kyle carefully as they perused the hospital's cafeteria. Her eyes occasionally drifting elsewhere to look at the unappetizing food or a loud child walking past her, she regularly found her attention wandering back to the teenager. In the back of her mind, she was more than aware that, in the long run, little things like this wouldn't matter; ten years from now, she probably wouldn't care what Kyle had wanted to eat on this particular day. Seeing, however, that she didn't know much else about the boy, she supposed that it was all right to be curious about the trivial matters.

Kyle, much like his cousin, didn't seem to agree with her though. Just as he passed over the large display of chips, he looked over at her. His fingers cautiously sliding towards the glass case of muffins, he asked in curiosity, "Is this some sort of quiz?"

Exhaling in a rush, Yelina asked her own question. "Excuse me?"

He shrugged, as he snatched a piece of waxy tissue. "I dunno. You're just watching me carefully, and I'm just wondering…" His brow furrowing in concentration, Kyle sorted through the display case until he found the muffin he wanted. Choosing a large cherry muffin that had been slightly burnt around the edges, the teenager looked almost happy for a moment as he pulled it out. The scantest hint of a smile tugging at the small corners of his lips, she thought he seemed pleased by his choice.

But, as was this family's way, it didn't last. His mouth relaxing once more, Kyle continued, "Nobody looks at somebody else this carefully unless they want something."

"I don't want anything from you," Yelina replied honestly, quietly, her eyes darkening slightly at the implication.

His response was a surprised, "Apparently."

"Do you want anything else?" she asked calmly.

His own eyes roaming around the rest of the cafeteria for a moment, he eventually looked at her once more. "I just want to know why you're so curious," the teenager told her. "Now that you know I'm not pressing charges against your kid, I can't figure out why you're still here."

Slowly they made their way towards the check out line. His eyes were trained on her the entire way, waiting for her to give an acceptable answer that Yelina wasn't sure she had. "We're family," she offered, pausing to grab a plastic container of milk from one of the refrigerated cases. "You'll need something to swallow the pills with," she explained.

"I don't need it," Kyle replied, waving the beverage off. "I can dry swallow."

Keeping the milk with her, she headed to the short line with the teenager lagging behind her. "That's repulsive," she told him, her voice only slightly judgmental.

"Fine, I'll drink the milk," he said. His tones were strained a little, obviously annoyed and confused by her.

"Good."

The conversation, if one could call it that, fell into a lull then. The din of chatter echoing around them, there was enough noise to avoid an awkward silence, Yelina thought thankfully. If anything, the quiet that followed felt… comfortable, okay, as though they'd been around one another for much longer than they actually had. Which was interesting, she supposed; it was definitely unlike every other relationship she'd had involving this family.

Not that she would have _ever_ done anything differently, but the fact was… when it came to the Caines, nothing was easy. Thanks to their childhoods, both Horatio and her husband had erected concrete walls around them, and no amount of chiseling or bashing her head against those walls had ever broken them down.

She'd tried _so hard_ to help both of them, had truly wanted to be the one who could… make them happy – as wrong as it was to want to be that for two brothers. But Yelina doubted now more than ever if she'd ever succeeded. Horatio more distant than he'd ever been before, Raymond dead – the results spoke only of failure. And in the forefront of her mind, the mother worried her son would meet the same fate.

And if that were to happen… if her son were never truly able to connect with another person, because he was afraid of repeating his own past…

She'd never forgive herself for that.

But, she thought, pushing the concern aside, with Kyle it was a little different.

Oh, he was closed off, obviously. He was quiet, just as his father and uncle were and had been. He was suspicious of her… almost desperate to prove that she had an ulterior motive.

And yet…

She didn't know how to describe it exactly, didn't know how to articulate what was different; more than anything, it was a feeling she had when looking at him. But… in spite of his distrust, she thought she saw interest flicker in his eyes. And maybe, she thought, she _hoped_, she saw the exact same desire to trust in him that she felt herself.

Having paid for the muffin and milk, Yelina stepped out of line and gave Kyle a choice. "We can either sit or you can eat in the car. I don't care."

"Car," he replied immediately, his thumb and index finger already picking at the top of the muffin.

"All right," she said, trying not to think of all the crumbs she would have to inevitably clean off of her cushions.

Obviously it was her own fault for suggesting the car in the first place, she realized. And in truth, Yelina… didn't mind it all that much; she could clean the mess without any problem, and she knew that. But having spent most of her life cleaning someone else's mess up – both metaphorically and literally – she couldn't help but think in those terms. It was what she knew, what she was familiar with, and that meant envisioning crumbs and stains even when there was no reason to. Pushing the thought aside, she guided Kyle out of the hospital without uttering a word.

Only when she started to drive did he choose to break the comfortable silence between them. His fingers picking nervously at the muffin in his lap, the teenager spoke up, "You said it's cause we're family, but… you don't really believe that, do you?" His voice was almost tentative, but there was accusation in each word regardless.

Stopping at an intersection, Yelina turned briefly to look at him. "Why wouldn't I?"

His own gaze focusing on her, Kyle asked, "Do you always have to respond to a question by asking another question?"

"No," she responded easily. As the traffic picked back up, she explained, "It's not a compulsion, Kyle. However," Yelina drew out slowly, licking her lips. "I do find it curious that your natural inclination is to discount everything I say. Have I given you any reason to believe that I _don't_ see you as family?"

Her voice was calm, the words spoken evenly. All in all, it was a remarked difference, she decided, between any conversation she'd had with her own son as of late. Had they been broaching this particular subject, they'd already be yelling; she had no doubt of that. Just as she had no doubt that they would be screaming at one another when she brought Kyle home with her.

But what other choice did she have?

She couldn't – _wouldn't_ – leave the teenager sitting outside of Horatio's home for an unknown amount of time, without having any idea of when her brother-in-law planned on returning.

And just as she was about to tell herself that _that_ was no option at all, Kyle interrupted. His words were tentative, carefully chosen, as he said, "You and I… we've known each other for… I don't know, a week?" He waited until she nodded her head in agreement before continuing, "You don't know me, and I don't know you. All I know is that Horatio says you've been furious with him about –"

"Yes," Yelina interrupted immediately, cutting Kyle off before he could vocalize the thought. "_Yes_," she admitted again, the single word feeling weighty to her. Quietly, she said, "I… am angry with him, yes."

It felt monumentous to say it, as odd as she thought that was. Because there'd never been _any_ doubt in her that she _was_ upset with Horatio; she'd understood_ that_ from the moment Rebecca Nevins had told her that Kyle was a relative. But, in a way, it was nice to admit it to someone who… whose judgment didn't matter.

Which sounded awful, she couldn't deny; Kyle was her nephew, she supposed, and was therefore someone whose opinion should have mattered. But as things were right now, it really _didn't_. If only because any judgment he would make about her (and vice versa) would be so off the mark, she had no problem admitting that she was furious.

And yet, Yelina still felt the need to say, "But last I checked, _you_ were not Horatio, yes?"

"No complaints there," Kyle murmured as he chased the painkiller the doctor had prescribed him with a long drink of milk.

Taking another turn on the road, she replied dryly, "No, I wouldn't think so."

They continued on in silence, their current dislike for Horatio somehow putting them both at ease. And they would have, she was sure, remained quiet, if she had left the topic of conversation alone. But the longer they said nothing, the more she wondered just how much Kyle thought she _was_ angry with him.

So, with the house only ten minutes away, Yelina took the opportunity to clarify; God only knew that as soon as Ray Junior saw him, there would be no time to say anything. "My issues are with your father, not you."

Kyle shook his head. "_Yeah_, but that issue is _me_." They were no longer on friendly territory, she immediately realized, his voice annoyed and affronted.

"No," she said harshly. "It's not."

"No?" he asked, pretending to sound surprised. "Does he have another bastard child –"

"Don't talk like that," she admonished quickly.

But Kyle ignored her and kept talking right over her, "that I'm not aware of?"

Her own irritation was beginning to overtake her; Yelina's lips turning down into a frown, she could feel her olive complexion starting to blush with a rouge that came only when she was being annoyed. "I suppose," she said grimly, trying to avoid sounding sarcastic. "That I'm not the one who can answer that question; if Horatio has other children, then… well, I guess he would be the only one to know."

Kyle opened his mouth to say something, but holding up a hand, she silenced the teenager. "Kyle… I've known your father for… more years that I'd care to admit that I've lived."

He smirked. "Yeah, you don't look like a day over twenty-five," he remarked sarcastically, garnering a smirk from Yelina...

It was interesting, she mused; from anyone else, that comment would have decidedly _not_ been appreciated by her. The menopause joke Ray Junior had made last month had been proof enough, for her, of that. In that instance, had disembowelment been a legal form of punishment, Yelina was sure she would have opted for it.

When _that_ had happened, Raymond had been trying to push her buttons, had been trying to manipulate her using one of her fears. Not particularly a fear of aging itself, nor a concern of vanity, Yelina had always been… obsessive about her appearance. Or maybe that wasn't the right word for it, because there were times when she wanted nothing more than to blend in with everyone else.

But ever since childhood, her relationship to her proclaimed obsessively good looks had been as complicated as pretty much every other relationship in her life. She hated being pretty when it meant she couldn't walk down the street without pairs upon pairs of eyes leering at her. She hated it when the people she would like to know judged her and turned away from her because of it, despised her genes even _more_ when it meant the only people who approached her were the repulsive kind.

And yet…

What scared Yelina about getting old was not death itself, was not disease, or the thought of leaving her son alone in the world. The last had some power over her. But in her heart, even if there were times when she doubted it, she knew that Ray Junior did not need her like he used to; he was a big boy, almost an adult, capable of taking care of himself, despite his almost obsessive choice to do the _opposite_ of what a mature man would do.

But really, it was the fear of _losing_ her looks that worried her about getting old. As many times as there had been where she wished she'd looked like someone else, she could not imagine a world where men did _not_ act disgusting around here, a world where the Horatio's did not cow from her and where the Stetler's stayed away.

She could not imagine no longer being beautiful, and the idea of being thrust into that world somehow… _terrified_ her.

And Ray Junior had somehow figured this out; he was smart enough to read her in ways she didn't care for.

And he'd used it against her.

Her own son.

Pushing the bitter thought away, Yelina tried to return to the matter at hand: Kyle's own attempt at a joke. Aside from the fact that her son had been cruel in a way that Kyle obviously wasn't trying to be, he had no real way of knowing that she could possibly take offense.

So… she didn't take any.

"When you know someone that long," she explained gently, trying to finish her thought. "You're either very close to them or not at all."

"You think?" Kyle asked curiously, his eyes sliding to meet hers.

She nodded her head slightly. "Horatio and I are… I don't know – both, neither. It's hard to tell." Falling silent, Yelina signaled to change lanes. When she spoke again, her voice was louder, stronger. "Whatever our problems are, and _God_, there are a _lot_… they are ours, Kyle. Not yours."

His response was a careful, "Okay…" As though he expected her to say more, he waited quietly for her to continue. But when, after five minutes she added nothing else, Kyle turned back to the muffin on his lap.

His attention on the food, Yelina took the opportunity to assess the damage to her car. And, although the mood had definitely shifted to something heavier and less comfortable, her own mood seemed to lighten at the fact that the teenager, unlike her own son, had mastered table manners. A scant amount of crumbs on his lap, there were no cherry stains on his hands or on the leather seat. And, looking at a relatively easy clean up (if the car needed one at all), Yelina couldn't have, sadly, been more pleased.

"You missed the turn off," Kyle spoke up suddenly, her head quickly snapping back to the road. "I think," he added as an afterthought. "I don't know."

She smiled reassuringly. "You have a good sense of direction. But I'm not taking you to your father's house."

"Why not?" His voice was filled with suspicion.

Her explanation was terse but simple. "You've got an injured nose; you ingested painkillers. You can't sit on your front porch all night long hoping that your father _won't_ get distracted by a case and come home to let you inside." She frowned at the mental picture that created. "You need someone to look after you."

He sounded annoyed when he said defensively, "I can take care of myself."

"I have no doubt of that," she replied easily. "You're right… I misspoke. You don't _need_ someone to take care of you, Kyle."

"Thank you," he said, as though the situation had been righted.

"But that doesn't mean I feel comfortable letting it happen."

"Oh," Kyle told her, sounding almost shocked. "So then…"

"You're coming home with me." Her eyes focused on the road, Yelina pretended not to notice her nephew shift uncomfortably in his seat out of her peripheral vision. Just as she was going to pretend that she couldn't sympathize or understand his nerves.

"You think that's a good idea?" he asked her pointedly.

Sighing, Yelina half-asked, half-stated, "You're worried about my son?" He didn't nod or shake his head, didn't give her any response at all. So she took that to mean she was right. "Well…." She slid her tongue along the outside of her teeth as she looked for an answer. "I honestly don't know how he'll respond to seeing you, Kyle."

That was a lie.

She knew _exactly_ how her son was going to react; he was going to be livid. The question was not _if_ he was going to be angry. It was just a matter of _how_ angry and at _whom_ that concerned her.

Unfortunately, Kyle seemed to understand this. "Yeah, he's just going to _love_ seeing me. Come on, Yelina, we both know that this is a disaster waiting to happen."

"Probably," she admitted, her voice heavily accented and harsh. "But this has happened; Raymond chose to fight you, and I'm not going to let you sit outside for the rest of the day by yourself, sweetheart. We are family," she said, wondering why that word almost sounded like a threat coming from her lips. "And that means he is _going_ to have to grow up and accept that you exist."

"Isn't that wishful thinking?"

"No," she replied sharply. Her fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles were blanching from the pressure, Yelina clarified, "I'm not demanding that you two be _friends_."

"Good" was Kyle's honest response.

"I have no delusions that the two of you will… resolve your differences," she said, her words awkward and clumsier than she was used to. But really, there was no other way to put it, not in her mind anyway. "But if you are going to go to the same school together, this cannot continue to happen. You'll both have to learn to live with the other one existing. You can't spend every minute you're in the same room together trying to rip each other's faces off."

The teenager scoffed, crumpling up the empty muffin holder and stuffing it into the drained container of milk. "You don't need to tell me that. I'm not the one who went psycho, remember?" he said, audibly annoyed.

As she pulled the car into her driveway, Yelina glanced over at him, a grim expression on her face. "Believe me. When my son sees you and opens his mouth, you'll be grateful for the reminder."

Their conversation was over then. The matter closed for the moment, she stepped out of the car and waited for Kyle to get out as well before heading towards the front door. Her manicured nails searching quickly through the now messy contents of her purse, she scrounged around for her keys. Which were hard to find in the unsorted pocketbook; really, Yelina could have sworn that, when chaos existed in her life, order was nowhere to be seen in her handbag. And this seemed to prove that point perfectly.

Fingers moving aside her wallet and compact, she wondered once more, where her keys were hiding.

Not that she needed them.

The second her hand closed around the chain of metal, the front door swung open. The brass knocker rattling against itself, it was an ominous warning.

Not that she needed _that_ either.

Because standing in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest was Ray Junior. His eyes the color of charred toast, he was glaring at them both. Accusation in his posture even before the words left him, Yelina hesitated to take another step closer to her son. Not fearful of him but rather of what he would say to Kyle, she wasn't sure that bringing her nephew here was such a good idea anymore. And when Ray finally spoke up, his voice hoarse and deadly, she was not surprised by the question.

"What the hell is he doing here?"

_End (56/??)_


	57. Chapter 56: Ray's Mistake

Author's Notes: Thanks to Ashley Moore for the review. I should clarify though – Yelina doesn't particularly care if Ray and Kyle "talk it out" or not. In her mind, there's nothing to talk out; Ray hit Kyle for no good reason, and that's just unacceptable. Ray _should_ apologize, I think she thinks, but she hates liars, and at this point, an apology would be a lie. So she isn't going to force that. Really, all she wants is to help her son and make sure Kyle is safe. And the only way to do both is to force her son to accept that Kyle is here to stay. Of course, whether or not that actually happens, we'll see.

Also thank you to RedHotLover for the review. How Yelina receives Horatio will be… interesting. At least I hope you think so.

Lastly thank you to Olly for all of her betaing help. It means a lot knowing that I have a beta as interested and fascinated by these characters as I am.

_Please read and review._

_Disclaimer: Not mine._

**No Other One  
****Chapter Fifty-Six: Ray's Mistake  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_If Stupidity got us into this mess, then why can't it get us out?" – Will Rogers_

In the hours that had passed retardedly slow, Ray Junior hadn't even remotely done the things his mother had wanted. In all of her naïveté, she had probably expected him to listen to her, had probably assumed that he would feel guilty enough to do exactly what she'd demanded.

But…

Given that she had insisted on visiting _Kyle_, Ray hadn't felt the need to respect _her_ wishes.

And now, standing in front of her and that stupid douche bag of a cousin, Ray couldn't have been more pleased with his decision to do what he'd wanted. Because in the long run, he didn't think it was a big deal to watch TV and play video games when compared to _her_ choices.

"What the hell is he doing here?" he snarled, demanding an answer. His mother, opening her mouth to respond, was not quick enough for him. And so he abruptly turned his attention to the blond. "What the _hell_ are _you_ doing here?"

The other teenager simply rolling his eyes, Ray Junior wanted to kill him. Because there was nothing more that he hated than being dismissed, his feelings ignored. Which was exactly what this _asshole_ was doing and exactly what Ray's mother had done and continued to do by bringing _him_ here.

"Raymond," his mom said in warning. "Your _cousin_ is here, because his father –"

"_Yeah,"_ he interrupted in disbelief. "What a _dad_," Ray said sarcastically. His body blocking the door to stop either of them from entering, he folded his arms across his chest in the same manner a bouncer would. "You think Horatio really gives a crap about you, man?"

His mother's voice cut across quickly. "_Ray_. _Don't._"

"Why not?" he replied loudly. "We both know what's going on here. You can do the whole 'we're family' act, but we both know – we _all_ know – that that's not true." He, ignoring the way his mother glared at him, turned his attention to Kyle. Arrogantly, Ray Junior pointed out, "You know I'm right. _She_ might tell you you're one of the gang or some other gay shit. But you _know_ that's not true."

His mother started towards him, her gaze narrowed. "Be quiet right now," she hissed.

But all he did was quickly spit out, "You go to the hospital, and Horatio doesn't even show up! He doesn't give a _crap_ about you. If he _did_, he wouldn't have _left_ your ass. You _know_ I'm right."

The only adult in the group told him, "_Stop it,"_ her voice angry and harsh.

But her words went unheeded, were routinely ignored by Ray Junior _and _Kyle.

The blond taking a step forward, he replied with a smirk, "That's a lot of talk for a little _bitch_ who can only fight someone when their back is turned."

Kyle's words working on the last shred of patience Ray possessed, he could feel himself being pushed to the brink.

Not that he hadn't already been headed towards it.

This entire situation had Ray Junior ready to kill someone. Horatio's _lies_ compounded on top of Ray's father's secret life, Ray's mother's betrayal thrown on the heap of other betrayals the teenager had lived through, Kyle's existence combining with the knowledge that _Madison_ existed as well – it was just _too much_ for _anyone_ to deal with.

The camel skewered alive on a thin piece of straw, Ray Junior had had _enough_ of _everyone's_ crap.

And in the back of his mind, he realized that _maybe_ was unfair to Kyle to take it out on him. _Maybe_ it wasn't right to tell him how Horatio didn't care – considering that, if Kyle had used the exact same standards to judge _Ray's _father, the blond could say the same thing.

_But_ there was a crucial difference, a reason to keep insulting Kyle.

And that was _Kyle_ hadn't really been around for any of the bad things. He hadn't been around all of his life to watch parts of his family randomly disappear, reappear, disappear, etc. He hadn't been _here_, and yet, he somehow… had managed to earn Ray's mother's _affection_ and _trust_. The blond hadn't done squat, and yet _he_ got what little good this family _did_ have to offer.

It wasn't fair.

And it sure as _hell_ wasn't going to continue.

Taking a step towards Kyle, Ray said, "Fine. You wanna fight face to face –"

"Absolutely not," his mother half-shouted almost immediately, positioning her body between the teenagers. Sounding incredibly stern, her back to Kyle, she commanded, "You are _not_ going to _kill_ one another in the front yard like a pair of rabid _mutts_." The last word sounding weird with her thick accent, Ray Junior wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness.

But instead, Kyle asked innocently, "So if we take it inside, I can kill him?"

Spinning around, she raised her eyebrows in challenge – or at least that was what Ray assumed she was doing; having been on the receiving end of that look _way_ too many times, he couldn't imagine her doing anything else.

"Of course not, Kyle," she said tersely.

"Why not?" Ray Junior called from over her shoulder. "I'm game."

"_No_," his mother hissed, turning around. "You two are _not_ going to fight one another. No matter how much you may _want _to do so, you _will not_." Her gaze shifting from one teenager to the other and back again, it was impossible to miss her dark eyes and pointed glare.

Everyone falling silent then, Ray Junior wasn't sure if Kyle hadn't said anything because of the adult watching over them. Or if the blond had just run out of quips and comebacks. The latter certainly possible, Ray took pleasure in thinking that his annoying non-cousiny cousin was as dumb as he looked.

"I don't care," his mother drawled out slowly. "If you don't like each other. You don't have to be _friends_. You don't have to _like_ one another," she said, conceding something that Ray Junior would _never_ allow to happen.

Like _Kyle_?

Ray would sooner lie down in a pit of snakes, he told himself, than do that. Would prefer that to spending _any_ time with the kid, because Ray had _no_ intention of getting to know him. Just knowing that he existed was enough for Ray, and frankly, even _that_ might have been too much.

His mother cutting across his thoughts, she told both teenagers, "I have _no_ delusions about you two getting along with one another – _believe me_. You want to hate one another? _Fine_," she said, throwing her hands in the air.

"Thanks for the permission," Ray Junior snapped.

His mother's response immediate, she pointed a finger at him. "_You_ be quiet. _Now_." He opened his mouth to say more, but her hand opened wide. Held out in front of his face, it was a signal for him to stop. "Not another word," she warned. "You've made it quite clear already that you are an insensitive, unsympathetic, unkind _little boy._ Neither Kyle, _nor I_, need you to prove that _obvious_ fact anymore."

Being written off as little more than a child, Ray could feel his cheeks begin to burn red. His hands clenching into fists at his sides, he had never felt more tempted to hit his mother than right now. Because it was _bad enough_ that she had decided to help this kid, to clearly _like_ him, but q, , uite another to then proceed to insult her _own son_ in front of him.

Hurt and angry, he tried to argue, "But –"

"_No_," she snapped quickly, ending the conversation. "This discussion is over," she announced, folding her arms across her chest. Clearing her throat, his mother then ordered, "Now, both of you get inside. And _no more fighting._"

Truth be told, Ray Junior had no intention of doing what his mother said. But a deadly glare tossed his way instinctively had him backing into the house nonetheless.

Kyle slowly following after him, also doing what Ray's mother had said, he was in the middle of the door way, when she told him, "I'm sure you're father will be here soon."

The words uttered almost tenderly, it wasn't what was actually being said that caught Ray's attention. But the way she said it, the way she was being so… _kind_ and _caring_ for this _stranger_.

He hated her for it.

Hated _Kyle_ for it as well.

Because it was one thing, Ray thought, to have his own mother constantly fighting with him. It was one thing for her to think of him as little more than a hassle, an embarrassment. But it was quite another to see how… it wasn't _her_ inabilities that made their relationship what it was; she could _obviously_ have a normal conversation with someone.

_She_ could connect with someone else and be gentle with them, even if they weren't necessarily perfect.

_She_ could be loving and nurturing.

Just not to him.

And he realized then, his throat feeling constricted all of a sudden, that this was _all _him.

_This_, their relationship, their constant fighting, their inability to be anywhere near each other and get along, was _his_ problem. This was _his_ fault.

And suddenly, Ray couldn't help but feel like the truth was too much for him. His vision tunneling, his heart pounding, he no longer wanted to see what was right in front of him. His palms sweating, his breathing quick and uneven, he wasn't sure if this was a panic attack or if he were really just dying.

Part of him hoped for the latter.

Because, as much as he had always pushed his mother away, she had just as permanently been the one to be around. The only parent, the only family member he'd ever been able to depend on, Ray couldn't bear the thought of her moving onto someone else. Of her… being a _mother_ to someone else.

Yes, he thought viciously, he would rather be dead than know what it was like to be replaced, than know what it was like for the last person you trusted and loved to give up on you.

The need to obliterate his depressing future, which had been wrapped up in the _sweet_ little picture of Mommy and her _new_ baby together, Ray took a step forward. His gait determined and militant, he didn't think he had plans to kill Kyle.

But then again, if he did, he wasn't sure that he cared anymore.

Anything was better than this.

That was his mantra: anything was better than seeing what he saw in that moment.

His footsteps light and agile, he moved with a grace not usually befitting him. But this time, as his fist began to soar through the air, Kyle saw him.

The blond boy quickly ducking the punch, Ray continued to hurl his body forward, propelled by his own force.

His ears pounding with the sound of his own blood racing through him, he could just make out the sound of his mother shouting his name. His hands lunging for Kyle (who had stepped back in horror to watch him carefully), Ray could feel his mother's grip on his upper arm and the shirt clinging to his sweaty back.

"Raymond, no!" she barked through gritted teeth, trying to contain him.

But the need to get to Kyle so strong, Ray's vision tunneling in on itself, he couldn't control himself even if he tried. Reaching out, trying desperately to grasp the other kid by the throat and _rip_ his guts out, Ray growled at his mother's insanely, abnormally tight grip.

Pulling as hard as he could, he could feel the material of his shirt become tight across his chest. The thin cotton surely going to break at any moment, Ray Junior swore he could hear the top beginning to fall apart one thread at a time.

But then again, maybe that was his own sanity, his own patience being destroyed. Dying for revenge, for release, for _something _to give way, he tried to pull harder. To no avail.

And then that was when it happened.

His desire quelling all rational thought, his need overwhelming his senses, he turned abruptly, violently, and pushed his mother away. Not hard enough to bruise, but definitely forceful enough for her strong grip to break, he watched in almost abject fascination as her back hit the foyer wall.

The sickening thud loud, even amongst the pounding in his ears, it was what finally made Kyle act.

Without uttering a single word, the blond rounded on him. Kyle's own fist now flying through the air, Ray Junior just had enough time to move out of the way. Dodging out of the way and hitting a table that had been placed in the hallway, he barely noticed a vase full of orchids falling onto the ground and breaking.

The loud smash echoed through the room.

The noise shattering through their angry hazes, it gave both boys a moment's pause. Collectively looking down to see the fragmented vase and flowers strewn about, to watch in temporary fascination as water began to trickle along the grooves of the hardwood flooring. Two sets of brown eyes following the slight movement, it was almost enough to stop the fight then and there.

_Almost_.

Glancing up at one another in the exact same second, they felt their anger renew itself. The flame was stocked more once. And hastily, purposefully, they started to close the distance between them.

Within a foot of one another, their fists raised. The need for skin to hit skin was too much, was roiling Ray's blood.

And he gave in to the sensation. His shoulder sliding forward, his fist soared through the air with precision. His body so desperate to connect with Kyle's face, Ray didn't notice his mother coming to stand between them. So powerful a punch, it would have been impossible to stop even if he tried.

And that was when _it _happened.

Seemingly in slow motion, but really capturing only a second of time, his fist kept moving forward. His mind barely able to process what was going on, there was no stopping it even if he tried.

He hit her.

Ray's knuckles connecting with the fleshy area surrounding her eye, there was the muted sound of bone against flesh heard over her grunt.

His hand immediately red and hurting, his first thought was the lamented realization that he wouldn't have hit Kyle, even if he'd tried. The punch had simply been too high. The thought instinctive and irrepressible, it took him a second to process what the hell had actually happened.

And when that _did_ happen, his mother's eyes were dark and the teenager behind her looked both terrified and livid. The thought that immediately followed on the heels of those facts was one Ray couldn't help but give voice to.

"Oh shit."

Shit, shit, _shit_.

His mother's gaze indiscernible, he instinctively took a step back in fear. Only marginally convinced that she _wouldn't_ hit him back, Ray didn't want to stick around to find out what she would do. Because even though she had made a point to never hit him in the past, the fact was _he_ had _also_ made that same point.

And now…

Ray Junior had no idea what was going to happen, so he backed away.

His footsteps as quiet as he could make him, he paused when his mother exhaled roughly. With her eyes dark, she looked down to her side.

Where her gun was holstered.

Swallowing hard, Ray watched, frozen to the spot, as she determinedly pulled the gun out of its nook. The look on her face hard to read, given that her dark curls had fallen in front of her face, he had no idea what she was going to do next.

Possibility after possibility crossing his mind, Ray Junior wondered what she might do – and if he should start hauling ass out of the house.

Fear creeping up on him, he was shocked when his mother, never looking up, stalked past him. Her heels firmly clacking against the hardwood, he listened to her curiously, as she disappeared down the hallway.

The faint sound of her rummaging in the bedroom slowly filtered its way down to both teenagers. And just as Ray Junior was about to turn his attention back on Kyle – after all, why _not_ finish what they'd started – the sound of the Hummer pulling into the driveway gave him pause.

Kyle turned to look out the still open front door then, and Ray followed suit. His uncle quickly getting out of the car, Ray Junior understood that there wasn't going to be any time to beat the crap out of Kyle. As ready as they both were to fight, Horatio would, no doubt, put a stop to that.

Unfortunately.

Of course, Ray realized, there were other things he could do, other ways he could make sure Kyle understood just what the hell was going on. The brunet's thoughts turning increasingly dark, a plan began to form in his mind. Because, as much as he understood that he should _let it go_, part of him could not.

Would not.

The sight of Horatio moving closer combined with the sound of Yelina's footsteps once more, Ray was quick. His voice just above a whisper, he told Kyle, "The game's not over yet."

The blond turning to look at him with annoyance in his eyes, he replied, "This isn't a _game_, you douche."

Ray smirked. "Of course it is."

Before Kyle could say anything though, Yelina pushed her way past them both. The only thing in her hand were her keys, her head never turning to look at either of them.

She stormed down the walkway onto the driveway (even angry, she wouldn't walk on the grass, Ray mused), her stride purposeful. She looked like she was on a mission, _livid_ by what had happened, and though it was hard to know for sure, Ray thought she was shaking.

Too pissy to say anything to Horatio, she didn't even look like she was going to stop or acknowledge his presence. Not until the redhead suddenly grabbed her hand, calling her name, did she stop.

But even then, she didn't turn to look at him, which struck Ray as odd. She'd already made her choice, had already decided that _Kyle_ was _okay_ to _bring around_. Why not just tell Horatio exactly what had happened?

"Yelina?" the redhead asked softly, his head cocking in such a way that he could clearly see her face. "What's… going on?"

Stricken, furious, she looked at him, her bruising eye now clearly obviously visible to him, but said nothing.

Both teenagers standing in the front doorway, Ray Junior thought Kyle must have been just as eager to see what would happen next… if for different reasons. The two staying quiet, they continued to look on in fascination.

And even from this distance, Ray could see his uncle swallow hard. "Yelina," Horatio started to say, his voice pinched. Slowly, he demanded to know, "_What_… is _that_?"

She shrugged him off, literally, her body fidgeting away from him and his concern. Her arms folding across her chest defensively, Ray Junior couldn't help but notice the way her fingers uncharacteristically drummed against her elbows nervously. A humorless smile and laugh escaping her, she sounded like she'd lost her mind. "_This_… this is… _your mess_," she told firmly, accusation missing from her voice if still in the words.

Sympathetically, Horatio repeated her name. "Yelina…"

"_Don't_," she said, her voice tight and short, as she raised a hand to him. "_I_… am _done_," she told him emotionally. "I'm washing my hands of the whole thing, all right? This is your mess now. _Fix it_," she ordered, pleaded – maybe a combination of both.

And, as she got into her car, Ray Junior couldn't help but feel his stomach twist and turn and explode at her words.

She was done.

His _mother_ was done.

And yet, as he watched her drive away, Ray couldn't help but still believe that Kyle had been wrong; this _was_ a game.

Ray had just lost.

_End (57/??)_


	58. Chapter 57: Shutting Doors

Author's Notes: We're back! I am so sorry that it has been so long since I've updated. Thank you so much to everyone for their patience. Thank you so very much to my beta, Olly, for all of her help, encouragement, and comments. Without that, I would be lost. Special thanks to Kelly and OkieBeth05 for reviewing. I appreciate your comments more than anything. They definitely keep me writing. As for the questions that were raised by OkieBeth, I have to admit that it's going to take Horatio a little bit of time to understand what he needs to do as a father. So too is it going to take time for Ray Junior to accept this change in family dynamic. But it will happen, I assure you.

Remember to read and review.

_Disclaimer: The show isn't mine._

**No Other One  
****Chapter Fifty-Seven: Shutting Doors  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_What occasions the greater part of the world's quarrels? Simply this: Two minds meet and do not understand each other in time enough to prevent any shock of surprise at the conduct of either party." – John Keats_

He stood there in shock, his mind on her black eye.

Yelina's battered face staying with him long after she'd driven away, Horatio had no idea what to say or do. His mouth slightly agape, he was at a loss, truth be told. Unsure if he should chase her down, find the vermin who had done this, or talk to the two teenagers who were intently watching him, he stayed frozen where he was.

Taking the moment to think about it, Horatio could hear his instincts saying that he needed to let Yelina go. She needed to calm down first, and even though she'd said she was done, he did not doubt for a minute that she would return. If only because he wasn't sure what he would do without her, Horatio believed that, yes, she would come back.

Besides, he thought, a lopsided smile beginning to play on his features, finding her now wouldn't do any good. As much as he didn't like to believe in stereotypes about women… when Yelina was emotional, there was no point in trying to reason with her. She was either completely irrationally upset or despondent, and with no middle ground for him to tread, he wouldn't get any answers out of her anyway.

A by-chance glance towards the children, on the other hand, said exactly the opposite.

They were standing shoulder-to-shoulder, Ray Junior and Kyle, in the doorframe. And although Horatio hadn't ever considered a family resemblance before, he could sort of see one now. Ray definitely favored his mother, of course, olive skin and dark curls directly stolen from her, and Kyle seemed like the perfect demonstration of recessive genes, his blond hair from neither his mother nor his father.

But there was a similarity between the two. Particularly around the eyes, the likeness in shape and color visible even from this distance, Horatio thought. Then again, he considered, cocking his head to the side, it might just have been the exact same expression on both of their faces that made them appear alike. Frowns on their faces, eyes wide and wild, they both looked upset, _angry_.

And they looked guilty as hell, Horatio decided, finally taking a step closer to them. His steps were tentative, his shoes making shallow indentations in the soft grass. Slowly bridging the gap between himself and the boys, Horatio took the time to contemplate how he was going to approach the situation. Given all of his failings with Kyle in the past week or so, as well as Ray Junior's considerable temper, he wanted to play it careful. Because even though he was letting her go, Horatio needed to know what events had led to Yelina having a black eye; that, more than anything, was his priority right now, and it was _clear_ that both Kyle and Ray Junior were aware of what had happened.

So he had a choice to make: how did he want to handle this?

His first instinct, surprisingly, was to make sure that Kyle was okay after being in the hospital all afternoon. But doing that would be, Horatio recognized, an uncomfortable demonstration of fatherhood and thus an instinct he reasoned himself out of almost immediately.

Given that Kyle _had_ been to the hospital, the redhead couldn't help but think that it was reasonable to assume the boy was okay. And even if it hadn't been, Yelina had said on the phone that the teenager was fine, and as she was usually true to her word, the blond _did_ seem okay.

True, Kyle's nose looked swollen, his eyes becoming rimmed with black and blue from the impact. But he looked okay, Horatio conceded, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to make a big deal over the incident.

Or maybe he did, but he realized that it wouldn't be smart to do that in front of Ray Junior who would either become angry at Horatio's concern or assume that Kyle needed to be coddled. And the last thing Horatio wanted to do was exacerbate the already tense situation by making it seem as though he thought the older boy was weak or cause for concern.

Nor did Horatio want Ray to see the doubt in his mind over Kyle's innocence.

The thought wrong even to his own mind, Horatio knew he should instinctively refute any idea that his son might be guilty.

But he couldn't do it.

As much as part of him didn't want to believe Kyle was responsible for the fight, or for the black eye, for that matter, he _did_ believe it, he realized. Because although nobody had ever admitted it, Horatio knew that Kyle had been responsible for Yelina's bruises before; the redhead _knew_ that the teenager had attacked her, and…

That kind of behavior didn't go away simply because Horatio wished it would. If anything, the teenager's violent childhood and past crimes probably had only cemented those types of actions, encouraged them. And while Horatio wasn't ready to throw in the towel – no matter how much his own thoughts might have suggested otherwise – he realized that he needed to address this problem.

Before Kyle went so far that not even his father's name and position could help him.

And all of a sudden, Horatio understood how to handle this situation. Drawing from all of his experience as a CSI, relying on all of the interrogations he had sat in on and conducted, he knew how to get the answers he wanted.

He easily closed the distance between them. His forceful gaze looking both of them carefully in the eye, Horatio said firmly, "Inside. Now."

The teenagers said nothing as they turned around and went further into the house. Horatio silently shutting the door behind them, the metal click that filled the air was potent, telling. The noise saying that, for the moment, there was no way out, it was the reminder Horatio didn't need to hear to know that he needed to proceed carefully.

And that meant by splitting them up for starters. Neither Kyle nor Ray were speaking when the redhead entered the room, but between them was a shared glance that suggested they were trying to decide how much they should reveal or talk about. Eager to stop them from reaching any sort of agreement, Horatio interrupted with an instruction, "Ray, go to your room."

Ray Junior shook his head. "I don't think so," he said snottily.

"_Raymond_," the redhead warned, his eyes narrowing on his nephew.

Ray hesitated in response. Clearly undecided whether or not he should listen, he visibly bristled. His lips contorting into a mangled sneer, he looked as though he were about to say something horribly inappropriate to Horatio.

But he didn't.

Instead, he shoved the hands he'd curled into fists into his pockets. And after a second, he let out a terse "fine" before walking away.

Now alone with Kyle, Horatio turned to face the teenager. In a voice that he hoped sounded calm, he asked, "What happened?" But even to his own ears, the question came out strangled, a hint of accusation and panic in the tones.

Which did not go unnoticed by the blond.

Kyle's brow furrowing in response, he slowly spit out, "You… think _I_ did this?"

"No." But that too did little to belie the conviction Horatio was feeling. The "yes" went unsaid but not unheard, causing the blond to frown slightly.

"Well, I don't know what to tell you," Kyle said with a shrug. "I mean I'm sure that you, no doubt, would love to hear that you've got everything figured out correctly. But you haven't," he told Horatio dryly. "I didn't do any of this."

Horatio cocked his head at that. "Then who did, Kyle? Who did this?"

Bitterly he replied, "Your nephew."

Horatio's immediate reaction was to shake his head, to deny what he was hearing. Because as troubled as Ray Junior could be, as angry as he surely was over learning about Kyle, Horatio couldn't imagine the motivation for the boy hitting his own _mother_.

He just couldn't see it.

"Explain that to me," he said in tense tones.

Kyle sighed in frustration. "You think he wouldn't do something like that? The kid's a psychopath."

"He's had some… problems," Horatio conceded patiently. "But… the boy _does_ love his mother, and I… _don't_ believe that he would –"

The teenager interrupted, admitting, "He was the one who attacked me at school. He –"

"You go to the same school?" Horatio asked in confusion. How he had not realized this before, he wasn't sure. But right then and there, the hindsight came to him; he should have talked to Yelina about it first. Because if he had known Ray were at that school, Horatio would have put Kyle in another. If only to avoid potential complications like this one.

"Apparently." His voice was calm and dry, but there was something about his appearance that reminded the redhead of a wild animal ready to strike. "He hit me and –"

Horatio was doubtful when he asked, "Without provocation?"

"I've never seen that kid before in my life," Kyle answered immediately. "He obviously knew who I was, but… I didn't know who he was until Yelina told me. And while I get the impression that you _think_ I'm the kind of person to get into fights for absolutely no reason, I know what's at stake. I have no intention of going to jail."

And that made sense, Horatio realized the moment he saw the honesty in the boy's eyes. But then that meant…

Ray really _had_ done this.

_He'd_ attacked Kyle.

Clearing the back of his throat, Horatio needed to know. "You're telling me he attacked you."

"And Yelina," Kyle added firmly, coldly.

The answer was not offered in sympathy, was not delivered with any gentleness that the redhead might have wanted. But then again, as the words sunk in, Horatio realized there was no way to deliver _that_ news with any kindness. The truth too depressing, too dark and repulsive, it didn't matter how Kyle had said it or hadn't said it. Because what he was saying was that Ray Junior had hit his own mother.

"Stay here," Horatio ordered harshly, stalking down the short hallway to Ray Junior's room. As he pushed open the door to the bedroom, he hoped that what he would see was all the proof he needed to know that Kyle was lying.

That truth disgusting as well, Horatio could only tell himself that… this kind of behavior was expected of Kyle. And while he didn't _like_ the idea of his son attacking Yelina, at least _that_ was… nothing new. It might have been cause for alarm; it _was_ cause for alarm, but it was still better than realizing that both his son _and_ his nephew needed help.

It was easier to handle if only one of them was screwed up, Horatio thought darkly.

But as Ray Junior got up off of his bed and looked at him guiltily, Horatio was forced to admit:

Kyle had been telling the truth.

Ray had attacked his own mother.

000000000000000000

She drove aimlessly for ten minutes. Considering her only goal had been to _get away_ from her son and the house of horrors her home had become, Yelina hadn't thought about where she should go; she hadn't cared. But as she drove along the Miami roads, she realized that most people would soon be getting off of work, if they hadn't already. And doubting that rush hour traffic would calm her, Yelina knew she needed to go somewhere.

But her options were limited. Because as much as she loved them, her friends and family would want to know what had happened; the black eye too obvious despite being brand new to ignore, Yelina understood she wouldn't find any comfort with any of those people. They'd only want to focus on her injury, and that meant being forced to explain what had happened.

Wanting to be with someone who wouldn't care less about her face, she was not surprised to find herself parked outside of _his_ home fifteen minutes later.

It had all been leading to this anyway, she thought grimly. The back and forth, the fighting, the kisses, and sympathy – they'd been moving closer and closer to this point, she realized as she stepped out of the car.

Her gait nonchalant as she made her way to the front door, part of her screamed that this was stupid. _Worse_, actually, if she was right in thinking that there was at least a fifty-fifty chance that they would end up in bed together. Because not only would _that_ not make things better, there was a great possibility that it would actually make everything seem worse.

Of course… she hesitated to think it. But her mind betrayed her and forced the idea into her consciousness anyway. Things were so bad right now, it whispered. So bad that, a frown on her features, Yelina doubted things could get much worse.

Her own son had _punched _her after all.

And even if it had been an accident, even if he'd been aiming for someone else, it was _still_ proof that she had failed as a mother.

It was all the proof she needed honestly, especially when she factored in that it was _another_ family member Ray Junior had been trying to hit in the first place. But regardless of the person his anger had been aimed at, Yelina had truly never expected this sort of violence from him. That _hatred_ inside of him something she hadn't anticipated at all, she wondered what _else_ Ray Junior had done, what _else_ he was capable of.

The question one that frightened her, one that made her feel like the worst mother ever, she realized that _nothing_ she could do here would make things any worse. They were already as bad as they could be. And with that in mind, she firmly pressed the doorbell and impatiently waited for him to answer.

Of course, it took a few minutes; he'd probably only been home from work for a little while anyway. And when he did come to the door, he was still dressed in his suit trouser, although his pink shirt and tie had been removed, leaving him only in an undershirt.

He looked good.

But frankly, even if he hadn't, Yelina was too enticed by the possibility that he could… make her forget.

It was a gift he had, one she was intimately familiar with. As difficult as a relationship with him had been, she hadn't forgotten how nice it was to have a boyfriend. Which sounded immature, even in her own mind, but she knew it was true nonetheless; he had made her happy (before he'd made her miserable), and in that time, Yelina had remembered just how lovely it was to have someone to share her life with.

And in that moment, as she remembered what her relationship with him had been like, she found herself not caring that the look on his face was a menacing cross between a smirk and a wolfish grin. His eyes staring intently at the small amount of cleavage she was showing, he drawled slowly, "Yelina…"

"Hello, Rick," she greeted in a low voice, sounding only slightly more reassured than she felt.

She could hear the taunting in his voice when he said, "Heard you left work early today. You realize you're not allowed to do that, right?"

Frowning, she nodded her head. "Something came up."

Stetler took a step closer to her, his gaze headed upwards to her face. His hands gently cupping her cheeks, he asked, "That have something to do with your face?"

Yelina raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you're suddenly concerned for my wellbeing."

"Hardly," he retorted with a sneer. "I just want to know how long I have before _Horatio_ comes pounding on my door with a gun in his hand."

"I wouldn't worry about that." Her voice was grim but appropriate, she decided as she contemplated her brother-in-law with two angry teenagers.

Rick's eyes narrowed on her. Both his and her silences making him look at her with increasing suspicion, he eventually asked, "Why are you here?"

She didn't know how to respond to that exactly. Because while at this point, she was sure she wanted… _sex_, it was definitely _not_ in her nature to be so… _wanton_. Her own form of flirtation typically much more reserved, this was decidedly different than what she was used to, the opposite of the kind of behavior she respected in women.

But…

Yelina found herself sighing anyway, a flirtatious smile pulling at her lips. Only slightly afraid that he would reject her, she closed her eyes and decided to take the risk before her.

Because, after all, how could it actually get any worse than her _son_, her _child_ attacking her?

It couldn't.

And so in a husky voice, she explained to Rick, "I was hoping you could leave a mark on me in a much more… _pleasurable_ way." The confusion in his eyes almost immediate, Yelina did not give him a chance to ask the question floating in his mind.

Her fingers quickly digging into the soft white cotton of his undershirt, she thrust herself closer to him. The gap between them dwindling with each second, she pulled him in for a kiss. Their lips crushed against one another, it was almost immediate in the way his tongue and hands began to recklessly explore her body that she understood:

He was interested.

His own fingers deliciously tucking into the waistband of her pants, Rick used the leverage to pull her inside. As he shut the door behind them both, the noise informed her that there was no escape.

She was at Stetler's mercy.

And as his lips threatened to descend on hers once more and he whispered seductively, "I think I can do that," she realized…

She was okay with that.

_End (58/??)_


	59. Chapter 58: Afternoon Delight

_Disclaimer: The show is absolutely not in my possession. _

_Please read and review. _

**No Other One  
****Chapter Fifty-Eight: Afternoon Delight, or Something like That  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_Although every man believes that his decisions and resolutions involve the most multifarious factors, in reality they are mere oscillation between flight and longing." – Herman Broch_

She was both warm and cold, flat on her back with just the thinnest sheet rumpled around her waist. Her hair was… everywhere, curls tickling her cheeks, irritating the back of her neck, and tangling along the swells of her breasts. A leg slung over Rick's thigh, she could feel one of his rough hands occasionally stroking the soft bit of flesh. His fingertips warm and gentle, it was almost enough to keep the reality of the situation at bay.

But not quite, because, even as she tried not to think about what had happened, it _was_ slowly seeping into her consciousness, into her bones like cold air creeping past thin cracks in a doorway. The chill one she could barely ignore, it took all of her effort _not_ to think about Horatio and Kyle, Ray Junior and what he had done.

And what _she_ had now done.

Yelina intently refocused her gaze on the ceiling. Rick had repainted his bedroom since she had been in it last. No longer the gold and tan tones she remembered, the walls and ceiling had been coated with a brilliant blue color that made her feel as though she were in the belly of a peacock.

Noticing that her gaze was traveling the length of the ceiling, Rick asked, "You like the new color?"

From her peripheral view, she could see him cock his head to the walls. The gesture flowing neatly into the motion of Rick sitting up, he reached towards the nightstand. Grabbing his bright green lighter and a cigarette from the red and white pack, he silently lit up.

"Hmm," she finally commented in a non-committal tone. "It's nice." But in truth, Yelina wasn't particularly a fan of the shade. Too dark and ominous, it made her feel trapped in the room… although she couldn't deny that that feeling might have had other origins.

With a distinct click of metal against metal, Rick lit the cigarette wedged between his fingers. A curl of grayish white smoke lazily circling up towards the ceiling, Yelina watched it intently. But even with her gaze elsewhere, she was sure Rick was smirking. "You hate it," he said knowingly, taking a deep pull from the cigarette.

She shrugged. "It's very… you."

In a smoky haze, he let out a throaty, good-natured laugh. "Like I said, Ellie, you hate it."

Yelina scowled as she turned her head to look at him. "I hate that name, and – "

"It's a good name," he interrupted. "It suits you."

"No, it really doesn't." Her voice was low, her words heavily accented out of annoyance. "It's a bad name, and I don't like it. And I don't like that cigarette," she added peevishly. "Pulling one out after we've had sex makes this seem incredibly… _tawdry_, and I'm not a fan."

As if to annoy her further, Stetler exhaled in her direction, making her imagine that the smoke was clinging to her hair. "Baby," he pointed out in all seriousness. "You come here in the middle of the day with a black eye and a pick up line that any whore on the street corner would have used. I'm _pretty_ sure that, in the scheme of things, my cigarette is hardly a factor."

She could hardly argue with that.

By her own standards… this was nothing short of trashy. Unladylike in the basest of ways, what she had done was hardly something she could defend. Because, as upset as she was, as horrified by Ray Junior as she was, Yelina couldn't help but feel that Stetler was right; she'd come here, maybe not knowingly wanting sex, but there'd been no hesitation, no resistance on her part. She'd come to him wanting to escape what had happened, and perhaps that was defense enough. But…

In the process, she could only think that she had acted like a _whore_.

And now every ounce of her screamed:

_Whore_.

It was so easy to believe that, Yelina realized. She smelled like him, his sweat having combined with her own and the proof that they hadn't used a condom wet against her skin. She still felt him, felt what he had done anyways; he'd taken the idea of marking her to heart. And their penchant for screwing one another as hard as they could had pushed the boundaries between them further. Her wrists beginning to bruise from where he'd gripped her as tightly as he could, a litany of teeth marks just starting to darken against her sweaty skin – she could wash him off of her, but she would live with those marks for days.

And regardless of sweat and bruises… there was something deep inside of her that made Yelina feel like the race horses her husband used to bet on. He had a thing for the most inexperienced ones, his affinity for them something she'd never understood – especially when they broke down from the stress so frequently. Ridden hard and then euthanized on the track, they came to mind as she lay next to Rick.

Her mood more than likely visibly faltering, it was enough for Stetler to turn and put the cigarette out. "Aw, come on now, don't act like that," he half-teased, half-begged. A hand quickly running through her hair, he moved closer to her, pressed a soft kiss to the strong line of her jaw. "I put it out."

Frowning Yelina rolled her eyes. "I don't like the smell, Rick. But more importantly, one of these days, you're going to fall asleep with a cigarette in your hand." Her voice sounded tight with emotion, although for reasons that had nothing to do with the idea that he might catch on fire and die at some point in his life. Her mind still focused on what she had done, on what she _was_ doing by being here, it was impossible to keep the unhappy feeling out of her words.

Misreading what she was feeling, Stetler pulled her closer to him. His lips brushed up against her ear as he spoke quietly, "You're a good girl, you know that?" The condescending compliment made her feel nauseous. "It's nice to think that if I torch myself to death, you'd be a little sad about it."

Her eyes, dark and stony, slid over to meet his. "If you die because you set your bed on fire, I will seriously consider spitting on your grave," she told him sincerely.

He shrugged, his hand moving under the sheet to skim across her hip. "Still means you care, which is nice to know."

In response she rolled her eyes. "Only you would confuse anger for affection."

"Baby, I'm sure that argument would have a lot more weight if you hadn't come here and slept with me," Rick pointed out.

"I had sex with you," Yelina argued lightly, as though that somehow disproved his point. Although maybe it did, she considered with a sigh. If she really were a morally bankrupt person for doing this, then she might as well say that she could have sex without any affection or feeling. True or not, it fit in with her actions. And in a moment of brazenness, she lamented, "Thankfully that only requires me to like one very _specific_ part of you."

Rick smirked into her shoulder before planting a harsh kiss on the expanse of skin. Drumming his fingers along her hipbone, he teased, "Pretty sure there were other parts you liked as well."

She bit down on her lower lip to stop herself from commenting. As much as she might like to fight the remark, there was no way she could. The conversation was headed, if not already there, into lewd territory, and if she contradicted him, Stetler would have no qualms about proving just how useful his hands and mouth could be.

So she stayed quiet. Her lips pursed together, Yelina truly despised the idea of letting him think he'd won. But she really didn't have any other choice.

And true to form, he smiled widely in reaction. "My, my. You're not fighting me on this. Yelina Salas, I think you're actually agreeing with me."

"Hardly."

"Really?" He cocked his head to the side. "Because usually if you have something to say –"

"I would say it, yes," she agreed irritably. "But as this conversation could best be described as long, tedious, and pointless, I was hoping that, by not responding, you would take the hint that I didn't want to continue it any further."

"Fine, we'll drop it." Rick was willing to concede, it seemed, but not without adding, "But I just think there's no point in denying that you have feelings for me. Cause we kissed a couple days ago, and you were all into starting a relationship again. And now we've had sex, so…"

"That only proves that my bout of insanity has been a prolonged one," Yelina retorted snidely.

Not surprisingly he went with it. A hand running along her ribs, Rick drawled out slowly, "And the sudden desire to make out with me at every available opportunity… how much of that has to do with the fact that Horatio now has a little bastard running around?"

The little toad.

He'd probably been thinking that this entire time, that she was just angry with Horatio and that was why she was here.

And even knowing that, he'd had no problem taking advantage of her.

Her lips turning downward into a frown, she was furious – but considered the question nonetheless. Because it was one she was beginning to wonder herself, and it was one she had no real answer to.

Truth be told, Yelina wasn't sure what her motives were exactly. She'd wanted to escape Ray Junior, her parenting failures, and the reality that was quickly closing in on her, _yes_. And maybe that was the most pressing reason, the thing motivating her the most. But…

In some ways, Yelina was sure that she would have ended up in bed with Stetler again anyway, even if this hadn't happened. And whether that was because of Horatio, her own loneliness, or something else, she didn't know.

She hoped to God it had nothing to do with love.

And even putting her own motives aside, she wondered what Rick's were. Did he love her? Was he just taking advantage of her weakness or was there something more to it? Was there something insidious about it?

Was he just using her to get to Horatio?

Those too were questions she didn't have answers to; she never had had them.

So she responded to his query by chastising, "You shouldn't call him that."

Rick scoffed. "That kid's a little asshole – reminds me of myself when I was that age." As he talked, he reached over and grabbed another cigarette. And when she didn't tell him to put it out again or complain, he smirked, clearly thinking he had won. "Very manipulative that one."

Yelina raised an eyebrow. "He's not."

Tossing the lighter onto the nightstand, he asked, "You ever meet the kid?"

"I have, yes," she replied snottily. "He's a good boy."

In her heart, she knew she wasn't just saying that to be contradictory. When she was with him, she could see a goodness inside of him.

But now, Yelina was beginning to wonder if that really mattered. Because… she had seen, could see, goodness in her own son, and she understood now that that had made her blind to all of his flaws; because she loved him and knew that he could be wonderful, she hadn't seen what he could be really like: jealous, vengeful, _violent_.

And that made her terrified, because now she couldn't help but ask herself what everybody else whom she'd given a free pass was capable of.

The thought darker than she liked, she quickly pushed it aside, just in time to hear Rick say, "Well, of course, you would say that."

She jerked her head toward him suddenly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"There's no need to be offended," he soothed ineffectively. "It's just that… we both know you have a soft spot for anyone with the last name, Caine."

She shook her head. "That is not true."

"It is. If it's related to your husband – or maybe it's more accurate to say, 'if it's related to _Horatio_," Rick implied darkly. "You'll never find any faults."

Part of her thought he might be right, but she fought him anyway. "_Right_. I'm completely blind to my family's mistakes and issues." Swallowing hard, Yelina said sarcastically, "I thought it was my husband's finest hour the day he faked his own death and let me to raise his son all alone."

"You _forgave_ him," Stetler pointed out. "You dropped everything and moved to Brazil to _be_ with him. So –"

Through gritted teeth, she interrupted, "It wasn't like that. It wasn't _my_ choice, Rick." Yelina shook her head at how naïve she would have been if she _had_ run off with her husband a second time without Horatio's helping hand.

The thought one that seemed so foreign to her, it was one she promptly shook away. And as an afterthought, she added in a tense voice, "And if it had been, and I _had_ decided to go, it would have been because of my son and _his_ right to know his father – not because I was an idiot blinded by my love for him."

He laughed humorlessly. "You know what's funny about that?" Smashing the cigarette out on the ashtray on the nightstand, he explained, "I can't, for the life of me, figure out _why_ you would think that man was even remotely good for your son. If anything, that boy has to be completely _wrecked_ from –"

"Go to hell," she snarled, getting out of bed.

Their temporary détente over, _permanently, _Yelina's only desire now was to get out of his home. Her eyes darting left and right as she tried to find her clothes, she tried not to listen to Stetler point out, "You wrap your reasons all in the nice little 'I'm-a-dutiful-wife' package. And I know you really _want_ to believe that you had no choice in this. But the thing is…" He smirked and chuckled to himself. "We both know you're not _that_ girl. And we both know, baby, that if you ended up in Brazil, it's cause you wanted to go."

Angrily, she pulled her pants up, her fingers fumbling on the buttons. "What I know is that you're only bringing this up, because you are a _jealous_, pathetic, little man." Grabbing her shirt, she argued, "We have sex _once_, and now you're thinking of all the other people I've had sex with, and –"

"Cause there are _oh so many_," he interrupted with a smirk, with the implication that she was a whore.

She wasn't going to argue.

Not today.

Glancing around the room, she was slow to find her purse. But when she did, she snatched it up. Giving him a pointed look, Yelina stated, although it probably didn't need to be said at this point, "This was a mistake."

Not that Rick seemed to agree. Her hand on the bedroom door, she couldn't miss his remark – "You'll be back" – muttered loudly as she left.

The comment one she denied to herself, Yelina slammed the front door shut behind her moments later.

She would _not_ come back.

She would _not_ turn to him again.

Because, getting into her car, she realized that… as much as she wanted to escape what had happened:

There was no escaping this, no removing herself from today's events. Trying to do so just seemed to result in making her feel worse, and worse was the fact that, in this case, it had led her to sleeping with Stetler.

God.

Sex with _Stetler_.

Putting the car in drive, Yelina couldn't help but feel itchy, nauseous. She'd had _sex_ with him, with someone she could barely bring herself to tolerate much less actually love. And worst of all, the thing that made everything seem all the more unbearable was the fact that… she had no one to turn to really; there was no one in her life who could provide the relief that she needed. Because everyone fit into one category or the other – either a person who would encourage her to return to her family for more pain or who would tell her that she should cut ties with them.

Both options were equally tempting and sickening, and the fact that she was in favor and contemptuous of both roads made her situation impossible to deal with. Actually, she thought, realizing the path she was on would lead her _home_, everything she was feeling made the current state of her life seem impossible to _understand_, much less pick a course of action.

She felt like a schizophrenic, like someone who had absolutely _no_ control over her own life. And though not a stranger to this particular state of mind, Yelina hadn't felt this way in years – not since Raymond had died – and it was _not_ lost on her that the last time…

She'd had Horatio.

She'd had her son.

But this time…

She wasn't sure she had anyone to see her through this.

Really, who did she have, she bitterly asked herself. Kyle Harmon? The teenager was easily the person she got along with the most at this point, but he was a child, a boy who had _no_ concept of anything that had happened in this family in the last twenty years or so. If anything, she should have been the one to warn him, the one to ask him to reconsider his plea bargain; right now, she was convinced prison was a better option.

But, as she finally pulled into her own driveway, Yelina realized… she didn't have the same option as Kyle. He could easily go to the nearest Starbucks and steal a piece of fruit; he could get out and _would_ get out in two or three years by virtue of being eighteen.

Yelina, on the other hand… she was stuck. There was no escape for her, no abandoning her family. Part of her wanted to, with all of her heart, but she _couldn't_; some other piece of her just refused to do it.

And that fact was only reaffirmed when she went into the house. Horatio's car was still out front, but she didn't see him; the sound of his voice mixed with Ray Junior's filtered down the hallway, but she had no desire to interrupt the heated conversation they were surely in.

But she _did_ see Kyle.

His battered face buried in the sleeve of his shirt, he was asleep on her couch. His dirty sneakers were still on his feet, she noticed with dismay. But they were dangling off of the sofa, the cushions in no danger of being damaged.

And it was _that_ that made her smile, she told herself. Her lips slightly upturned, she refused to believe, given all that had happened, that she could be as big a fool as Stetler thought she was.

But her conviction was short-lived, promptly dashed when she took a step closer to the exhausted teenager. Her hands carefully grabbing the afghan lining the back of the couch, she easily pulled it down and spread it out over Kyle. Covering him, she couldn't deny that she… cared.

For better or worse, regardless of what she actually wanted, she _cared_ about him and the rest of her family. As she reached down and slowly slipped the shoes off of Kyle's socked feet, she realized more than ever that she _did_ want a relationship with them all.

And as she headed towards her bedroom, Yelina couldn't decide if that made her the most forgiving person on the planet… or the biggest fool of all.

_End (59/??)_


	60. Chapter 59: Bridging the Gaps

Author's Note: A special thank you to my beta for all of her help and tips. Thanks to Crazy writter and RedHotLover for the reviews. But I would like to mention a few things. Yelina's reasons for sleeping with Stetler may be faulty, but he's hard for her to resist nonetheless. On the show itself, she said that he was "simple," and I think that, while their relationship becomes complex, there is something very straightforward about it that she likes, something about it that feels like an escape for her when she needs one.

But yes, this IS a Horatio/Yelina story, and they will eventually get together. How many fights and hospital visits will it take to get to that point? You'll just have to wait and see.

_Disclaimer: If the show were mine, I wouldn't be writing this._

**No Other One  
****Chapter Fifty-Nine: Bridging the Gaps  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_Until that time, her betrayals had filled her with excitement and joy, because they opened up new paths to new adventures of betrayal. But what if the paths came to an end? One could betray one's parents, husband, country, love, but when parents, husband, country, and love were gone – what was left to betray?" – Milan Kundera_

They stared at one another for the longest time, neither Ray nor Horatio willing to look away or speak. But unlike conversations with Kyle, this was a silence not born out of any inability to know what to say. The seconds ticking by, Horatio could hear in his head everything he could – _would_ – tell the teenager standing before him. He supposed he was just hoping that Ray would volunteer an apology, an _explanation_, on his own.

But after a minute or so, Horatio could tell that that wasn't going to happen, and with each passing moment, the resentment, the _anger_ within him grew. And under any normal set of circumstances, he would have tried to hide that from his nephew, he thought. Because, unlike Ray Junior, Horatio had always liked playing things close to the vest, had preferred to protect his family from the less happier emotions he could so easily feel.

But not today.

Not right now, because he was unconcerned about shielding his nephew from his anger; considering no one else had been given the same courtesy from Ray Junior himself, Horatio didn't think the boy deserved it.

Taking a step closer to the teenager, he didn't divert his penetrating gaze away from the boy. The words he spoke then came out slow, soft, but the warning in them was absolutely clear. "Raymond… the next time you're angry at _me_… you come to _me_." His eyes narrowed on Ray. "You _don't_ attack _my_ family for something I have done."

But if Horatio had expected contrition, he didn't get it. If anything, whatever guilt Ray Junior had appeared to be feeling instantly vanished from his gaze. "You know, Horatio, I _would_ point out that, if you want to avoid these situations, you should probably keep your whore kid away, but –"

Horatio looked at him with displeasure, his head cocked to the side. "_Raymond_."

"Really, I just can't get past the whole this-is-_your­_-family crap," he finished sharply, ignoring the redhead's warning.

Hands on his hips, Horatio asked curiously, "You think that… this _isn't_ my family?"

Ray shook his head. "I think you can't pick and choose when we're your family. You can't be here one minute and then do whatever the hell suits you the next. You can't _ship_ us off and then bring in somebody new and expect me to play _nice_," he growled.

"Fine," Horatio conceded, although privately he admitted that he had no idea what his nephew was trying to say. Because from where Horatio stood, he had never done the things Ray was accusing him of. He'd never forgotten that Yelina and Ray Junior were his family. There'd been a temporary separation when the two had moved to Brazil, yes, but what was he supposed to do, he asked himself. Was he supposed to demand that they stay? Deny his brother his own family? Deny Ray Junior the right to know his father?

_That_ wasn't an option, wasn't one Horatio would have chosen even if he had known what would happen. Because as much as he had missed them, as hard as it was to accept that Raymond _could not_ get better for them, there was no other choice. They had a right to be together, and even if Ray Junior didn't like that fact now, had he been in the same position, he would have done what Horatio had done.

Or would he?

At this point, Horatio couldn't help but think that the teenager standing before him was a complete stranger. The depths Ray Junior had sunk to by hitting Kyle and his _own_ mother had morphed him into someone the redhead no longer recognized.

And for what? For revenge?

To satisfy his own anger?

To punish Horatio himself?

They were questions Horatio had no answer to, ones that he doubted Ray could solve either. And so Horatio returned to the matter at hand, saying what he thought the teenager wanted to hear. "I'm not your family. Is _that_ what you want me to say?" he asked slowly, calmly.

Ray Junior looked as though he had been slapped in the face.

"_No_," he responded in a voice that combined anger with sadness in a nearly tangible way.

"Then I don't –"

Interrupting him viciously, Ray replied, "Of _course_, you don't have any idea what I'm talking about." A finger pointing at Horatio's chest in accusation, Ray noted, "You have this whole screwed up thing in your head that says as long as you're doing the _right thing.._." He said the last two words with extreme disdain before finishing, "Everyone will love you, think you're a _real_ big hero."

It was hard not to shuffle under his nephew's assessment, but Horatio managed, refusing to give Ray Junior the reaction he wanted. Because, at this point, the redhead realized he _couldn't_ do that, let Ray feel as though he was touching on something true. Right now, it was more important to stay focused, to give the boy nothing that would make him feel entitled to do what he had done.

But Ray Junior wasn't finished. "The thing with that is nobody really gives a crap _why_ you _ship_ the only family you have to a different _continent_, marry some sick _skank_ –"

"Ray," Horatio warned once more, a growl in the single word.

"And then bring home some _random_ person - like I'm supposed to care that you're doing what you _think_ is the right thing." The teenager scoffed, folding his arms across his chest, ready for confrontation.

And Horatio mimicked his stance, shaking his head slowly. His response was sarcastic, was, admittedly, one that wouldn't help the situation any, but one he couldn't deny himself nonetheless. "Well, Ray, some of us… can't spend our days…" He paused for dramatic effect before finishing calmly, "hurting… our cousins and mothers."

"My mom was a mistake," Ray Junior admitted immediately. But if Horatio were expecting the boy to apologize, cry, do _something_ that demonstrated remorse, he was wrong. Because it became _very_ clear that the teenager wasn't ready to do that when he said, "Definitely didn't have the same preparation and _intent_ you _obviously_ took when you stabbed Riaz or shot that dude in the hospital who was only holding a scalpel –"

The first… _death_ Ray Junior had mentioned was one Horatio could have expected, anticipated. Because the boy had known Riaz, had worked for him and with him under the naïve belief that he could save his father, there'd been no way to shield Ray from that particular… murder. Even if Yelina had been opposed to letting the teenager know, Horatio had understood that it would have been impossible to keep that knowledge from him; he would have found out sooner or later.

But the Mala Noche in the hospital? That was something Horatio _hadn't_ anticipated his nephew knowing, and the redhead couldn't stop his eyes from abruptly widening in surprise. "How… do you know about _that_?" he asked carefully.

"Well, there _is_ this little thing called the _Internet_."

Horatio nodded his head in understanding. But he refused to acknowledge or deny what Ray was accusing him of, instead bringing the subject back to the boy himself. "All right," he admitted quietly. "But this… is not about _me_, son. This is about what _you_ – "

"I wasn't saying it's not," Ray practically whined. "I'm just saying you don't get to come in here and act like you have any sort of authority over this. Cause you haven't been around, and more than that, you don't get to pretend like you know better than I do. Cause from where I'm standing, the only difference between you and me is you have the badge, and I –"

"Attacked two _defenseless_ people who haven't done anything wrong," he interrupted pointedly, despite a nagging voice in the back of his mind whispering that maybe Kyle wasn't so innocent. He swayed on his feet a little, shifted his weight around, eager for confirmation. "Right?"

"He did something."

Ray Junior's voice gave away nothing, but looking into his eyes, Horatio could see that they had darkened a little, hardened. And try as he might to deny what Ray was saying, Horatio found that he could not quite so easily believe that Kyle had done nothing wrong.

Yelina – yes, she was innocent; he had no doubt about that. There was no question in his mind.

But his son?

_That_ was harder to believe, given Kyle's track record and Horatio's experience with him first hand. It hadn't been that long ago since Kyle had been little more than a suspect in a kidnapping, a teenager with a sharp tongue and quick temper. In some ways, it seemed like that had been a lifetime ago, but it really hadn't – certainly not long enough to make Horatio forget those tension and violence-filled moments.

So it was with that in mind that he asked Ray carefully, "What did he do?"

But the teenager didn't give an answer right away. Instead, Ray Junior's dark eyes began to look him over slowly, as though he believed Horatio had just revealed something important. The almost intrusive gaze stayed on him for a moment before Ray's posture completely changed. Now no longer looking like a cat with all of its hair standing up and back arched, the boy appeared to be calmer.

And that suspicion was confirmed for Horatio when Ray Junior said in surprise, "Now, _that's_ interesting." He started to laugh and shook his head. "No wonder he wants Mom – _you_ don't like him, and he's your own kid."

Horatio shook his head. "That's not true." Even to his ears, the rebuff wasn't the strongest, but that was probably to be expected, he realized. Because as easy as it would have been to be sidetracked by the accusation, the redhead was far more curious about the other things Ray Junior had said, specifically that Kyle wanted _Yelina_.

Or maybe not curious as much as he was _confused_ by that idea. Which seemed to be the norm when it came to Horatio understanding his son's relationship with her. Confusion, the likes of which only the most adept polyglots could avoid, seemed to surround that part of the family tree for Horatio, and he truly had no insight into why Yelina and Kyle seemed even remotely capable of liking one another.

"It is," the boy persisted, interrupting loudly. He pointed to himself as he conceded, "Look, I get that I might not really understand normal father-son relationships, being the son of a useless crackhead and all."

"I'm not sure you should speak of your father like that, Ray."

"Well, it's _true_."

"Your father had a problem." And that was the nice way of putting it, Horatio realized. "But he tried, and he loved you."

"And you would know this… how exactly?" Ray demanded. "You have a little Ouija board or a crystal ball? Cause… you _weren't _there."

Horatio nodded his head. "I… may not have been in Rio with you. That is true. _But_… I do know that your father –"

"Felt obligated to be around but didn't actually _want_ to be around," Ray Junior finished strongly.

It was interesting, Horatio thought then, that the teenager before him didn't sound angry at that… well, fact. There was no indignation, no fury, which _would_ have been understandable, given what Raymond had done to their family. _That_ would have at least made sense to the redhead, unlike the relationship seemingly burgeoning between Kyle and Yelina.

But, if anything, Ray Junior spoke calmly, much more so than he had all day, and that gave Horatio pause. Because it made him wonder how many times the boy had been disappointed by his father, how many instances there had taken to get him to this point – to be almost… _complacent_ with Raymond's inability to be a reliable father.

"He did what he could," Ray admitted. "But in the end, if it conflicted with what he wanted to do, he didn't give a crap about _us_." With a sad shrug, he finished, "It was just all about the face time, giving everyone just enough attention and consideration that you actually thought he still gave a shit when he really didn't." And then his voice _did_ darken. "Just like you're doing with that asshole out there."

Horatio was willing to overlook the language. "_That_ is not true," he repeated, little more than aware that he was beginning to sound like a broken record.

"Sure it is. And I don't blame you for that, cause the kid sucks – I'll admit to that much." Shaking his head then, dark curls bouncing from side to side, he said, "But the truth of the matter is you're not doing anyone any favors by doing the whole this-is-my-duty bit. Cause guaranteed, he knows that's all you're doing. Just like I did and _do_."

There was something achingly true about Ray Junior's words; Horatio felt it in his bones. But he wasn't prepared to admit that out loud, especially to his fourteen-year-old nephew. That would have been too… personal, too much of a peak at the things Horatio was feeling.

So he chuckled a little instead. "That's an interesting theory, Ray."

"We both know it's true."

"_No_, we do not… I care about Kyle," Horatio said slowly, irritated by both his nephew and the fact that Horatio himself couldn't quite believe the story he was selling.

"_Yes_, we do," Ray Junior mocked, using the exact same intonation Horatio had. "If you can't even say, 'I love my son,' I'm pretty sure it means you _don't_. Hell, if you're initial reaction is to believe me when I say he did something, it's pretty much a given: you _don't_."

"Raymond, you can't –"

"No, _you_ can't," he interrupted angrily. "You can't toss his name up on the family tree and, at the same time, not really want him to be there. _And_ you can't act like he's too dumb to notice, cause, if I've noticed, when I've had it in my head this whole time that you were all lovey dovey over his ass, then _he's_ noticed too."

Horatio shook his head. "He's my responsibility, Ray, but I don't think that's _all_ he is."

But the words sounded less convincing than he'd hoped, and it wasn't surprising when Ray snorted out, "Oh yeah, that's _real_ convincing there, Uncle Horatio."

He sighed, shifting on his feet. "It's complicated," he said, admitting, without actually saying the words, that Ray Junior was right.

"It's really not." Pretending to think about it further, Ray took a moment before responding, "Actually, it's all pretty simple, if you think about it a little. You don't really like him, so he turns to Mom, who would parent a damn _rock_ if it looked pathetic enough."

There was a hint of bitterness in the words, just enough for Horatio to read between the lines. And he suddenly had a picture of today's events. "That's why you… attacked him," he deduced slowly.

Ray turned away then, his gaze focused on the window in his bedroom. "I don't care all that much if he takes you. It's not like you've been around enough for that to be any big loss."

Horatio bristled at his words, even though they had an incredibly mournful quality, given the way Ray Junior had spoken them. Because, even though the teenager hadn't meant to hurt him, there was no denying that the sentiment _did_ hurt.

How could it not – he was _expendable_ in his nephew's eyes. And _not_ because Horatio had never meant anything to the boy, _not_ because Ray Junior was _evil_.

But because Horatio had spent the last few years keeping his distance.

Ray sighed before the redhead had a chance to respond. "He can have you. I _won't_ let him take her."

Finally seeing an opportunity to return the conversation back to the boy, Horatio seized the moment. "Well, you attacked her, Raymond. And now… she's gone. And, son, that has nothing to do with Kyle. That's all you."

At that exact second, he was sure he heard the front door shut, the sound of the knocker clashing against wood prickling at his senses.

But it was obvious Ray Junior hadn't heard it, maybe because he was too busy formulating a response or too angry with Horatio to notice.

"You think I don't know that it's _my _fault?" he snapped angrily. Spinning around, Ray demanded to know, "Do you think I need _you_ to come in here with your sunglasses and your bullshit to tell me that I screwed up?"

"I honestly have _no _idea," Horatio bit back just as viciously. "You have gone… far beyond anything I believed you were capable of. So… I really don't know what it is… that I need to tell you. I just… do not know."

Finally, his words seemed to get through to Ray Junior. The anger and resentment visibly left the boy, his posture completely changing before Horatio's eyes; his shoulders slumped. His lips turned downward into a deep, mournful frown, and it was impossible to miss the way the conviction in his gaze completely disappeared, evaporated.

The words practically whispered, Horatio had to strain to hear it; "I'm sorry."

And although the redhead could hear the honesty in Ray Junior's voice, he knew he needed to push a little. "You know I am… not the people you need to say that to."

"I'm not apologizing to _him_." As an afterthought, he added sullenly, "Maybe to her. But not him."

Horatio shook his head. "That's not going to work, Ray. You know your mother won't forgive you until you apologize to Kyle. That's just how it is."

Ray Junior paused for a moment, visibly thinking about what Horatio was saying. And finally, he conceded, "Fine."

As the teenager headed to the door, Horatio recognized the boys' need for some… privacy. Because at this point, although it might be too soon to trust them alone together for long, the apology wouldn't work if the redhead were standing behind Ray Junior the whole time.

Of course, there was a great chance that an "I'm sorry" wouldn't do anything at all; Horatio doubted that Kyle was the kind of person to forgive or forget very easily. He didn't seem like that kind of person, and given the way his son had looked earlier, Horatio didn't believe that everything would be smooth sailing from here on out.

But it was better to let the two teenagers sort out their differences on their own. The apology would at least seem more genuine that way. And maybe… just maybe they'd find some common ground, some way to connect to one another.

Even if, Horatio lamented with a sigh, it meant bonding over having fathers who had no ability or right to parent.

Watching Ray head down the hallway, the redhead told him quietly, "I'm going to check on your mother." And yet, in the back of his mind, Horatio couldn't help but wonder if the chasm he needed to breach to be close to Yelina once more wasn't just as wide as the one between Ray and Kyle.

He sighed once more. This just wasn't ever going to get any easier.

_End (60/??)_


	61. Chapter 60: Conversations Avoided

Author's Notes: Thanks to OkieBeth05 for the review. I disagree that Ray Junior is in any way a spoiled brat, as he's been through just as much as all the other characters in this fic and is hurting in a way that none of them can fully understand. In a couple chapters, Yelina has said that her son has all of the worst qualities she and Ray Senior could pass on. At this point, I would add that Ray Junior is not only their worst qualities combined, but also the product of their worst actions and choices. He's not _bad_ as much as he's troubled and in need of a _lot_ of support.

Also, thank you to my beta, Olly, for all of her advice and help. I appreciate it, Goosey.

_Disclaimer: The show ain't mine._

**No Other One  
****Chapter Sixty: Conversations Avoided  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_It is easy to dodge our responsibilities, but we cannot dodge the consequences of dodging our responsibilities." – Josiah Charles Stamp_

Let it be perfectly clear, Ray Junior thought, mentally writing the autobiography he never really had any intention of committing to paper much less publishing: he had absolutely no desire to apologize to _Kyle_. Even though Ray could recognize that it had been wrong to attack, at least in a _very_ theoretical way, he didn't think it was necessarily wrong in this case. Sort of like how you could shoot an intruder or beat the crap out of someone if they planned to hurt you, hitting Kyle had been out of self-defense, he rationalized.

Now granted… this was a different sort of threat, one that admittedly didn't put his physical well being at risk. But it was the same idea, Ray Junior argued to himself. Or, if he had to admit that there _was_ a difference, he could only believe that what Kyle was doing was _so _much worse than the threat of death itself. Because what that little bitch had done, what he was attempting to do, was worm his way into this family's life.

He was trying to _steal_ Ray's mother.

And that was unacceptable.

Because as much as they argued, as much as he sometimes resented her, Ray Junior had no desire to _share_ his _mother_. He might not have always shown her the… _love_ or whatever that she deserved – and the same was definitely, he felt, true in reverse. But that didn't mean Ray was willing to part with her for any reason. He wasn't interested in trading up or swapping with Kyle or whatever the hell that asshole seemed intent on doing.

All Ray Junior wanted was to keep the family he had. He'd lost too many members already in his short life, his father lost _twice_ for reasons that the teenager still couldn't understand. Or rather, he could _understand_ the reasons his father faked his death, the rationale behind his father turning to Riaz for work. At least with the latter, Ray didn't need help getting why his father had done what he'd done, Ray Junior having chosen to work with Riaz himself when it had been absolutely necessary.

So he supposed that he _understood_ it all well enough. But so far that hadn't made his pain any less than what it was; it didn't make him feel better about his father being dead. All those experiences had ever served to do was make Ray feel absolutely… _clingy_ towards his mother.

And that meant that it didn't really matter if Kyle was his cousin, if Kyle was actually _family_. Because the threat that punk created superceded all of that, and no matter how much Uncle Horatio might hope that that connection would rise above all else, Ray knew that it wouldn't.

His _mother_ was more important than that, more important than anything else.

And he would do whatever the hell was necessary to make sure that nobody got in the way.

But, nevertheless, Ray Junior found himself heading towards the couch where Kyle currently was.

In his own mind, Ray realized that it seemed really hypocritical and lame to apologize to someone you still kind of wanted to kill. But at this point, he _also_ realized that he _had_ to do it. For one, if he didn't, Horatio would never get off his back, and more importantly, like his uncle had said, Ray's mother would never forgive him unless he did.

That much he knew to be absolutely true; his mother would want an apology for the little bitch more than she'd want one for herself. Which meant that Ray Junior was willing to do just that, even if he didn't feel like it.

His feet feeling especially heavy, he trudged through the hallway until he was standing in front of Kyle.

And immediately, Ray felt the desire to hit him again.

The blond, asleep, was lying on _his_ couch. He'd dragged the blanket off of the back of the sofa and had messily wrapped it around his body, his shoes on the floor, and overall, he looked… comfortable.

And that infuriated Ray Junior.

Like, he wasn't _opposed_ to people who didn't live here getting all relaxed and crap on his sofa. His mother was far more anal about that kind of thing, but Ray didn't particularly care. Normally, anyway, because in this case, he could feel his mother's genes seizing hold of him, his anger at Kyle's… presumptuousness getting the better of him.

Because this kid had, what, been in the family for a _week_? He'd probably spent twenty minutes or so with Ray's mother? That _hardly_ gave the kid the right to lounge around the place like he owned it.

But… at the same time, Ray Junior was more than aware that his uncle was still around. And he had no doubt that Horatio would pop up just in the nick of time should Ray try to do something.

So he had no choice.

Or did he?

Standing over Kyle's sleeping form, Ray reminded himself that _yes,_ he did have to apologize. But…

Did that actually mean that Kyle had to _hear_ it?

Taking a step back literally, Ray Junior tried to recall what he had agreed to do. He'd said… he would apologize, sure, but that didn't necessarily mean that Kyle had to know about it. Right? Carefully thinking about it, Ray rationalized that you could say, "I'm sorry" without the other person being aware of it. An apology was still an apology even if no one else were listening.

So… he was off the hook, he realized brightly.

Glancing down at the sleeping kid, Ray Junior said quietly, not really meaning any of the words, "Sorry for hitting you."

Smirking to himself, he turned around and began to head back towards his bedroom. This had worked out almost too well, he thought cheerfully; he'd been prepared to give a full apology, an apology to someone who was, like, awake and all. But this was better, because this way, he hadn't even had to bother with faking contrition in his voice.

And it was that fact that had him smiling as he strutted his way back towards his room. It was _that_ truth that had Ray incredibly pleased… until he ran into Horatio in the hallway.

Ray thought that, just by the few minutes the other man had been in the other bedroom, things had not gone well with his mother. Which concerned the teenager, because, even if a lot of this _was_ Horatio's fault for bringing that idiot into the family, Ray couldn't deny that this was for the most part his fault. And his mother shouldn't have been – wouldn't have been – mad at Horatio if she were thinking clearly.

Which meant he was _screwed_.

Damn it!

Panic and guilt mixing within him, Ray hesitantly asked, "She that pissed?"

Horatio cocked his head and looked at the teenager. "I… haven't spoken to her. Yet. She's in the shower, so… I'm getting some ice for her face." Ray Junior nodded his head but didn't say anything. So Horatio asked, "Did you apologize?"

"Yes," Ray replied easily. He tried to infuse the one word answer with a sense of resentment and embarrassment, with the emotions he would have been feeling if he'd actually said, "I'm sorry" to a conscious person.

The redhead looked at him carefully then, his eyes intently assessing him. "That didn't take very long," he said curiously.

"Guess not."

But no amount of breeziness in those words could distract Horatio, it seemed. "Really?" he asked in quiet disbelief. Cocking his head to the side, he suggested, "You know… why don't you help me get the ice?"

And although Ray Junior really _didn't_ want to help, it was immediately obvious that he didn't have a choice; Horatio clasped the teenager's shoulders with one of his hands and firmly led the boy back down the hallway.

It wasn't violent by any means; it wasn't overtly forceful in any way, but Ray Junior did what his uncle wanted nonetheless. Why he didn't really know, but there had always been something incredibly commanding about Horatio, something that made you obey him regardless of whether you thought it was the right thing to do.

Of course, Ray Junior understood that that was a good quality to have when you worked in law enforcement. But… it was a much less desirable quality in an uncle.

A _lot_ less desirable, Ray thought the second they entered the family room and it became clear that Kyle was asleep.

Horatio looked over at Ray Junior in disappointment and vaguely defined irritation. "Raymond."

"What?" He tried to act as though he had no idea what his uncle was implying. "He must have fallen asleep since I talked to him."

It sounded reasonable enough, if you didn't think about how only a minute or two had passed since Ray had been in the room. And unfortunately, for him, Horatio wasn't one to overlook that detail. "I'm pretty sure we _both_ know that _that_ is not true."

Ray Junior shrugged. "I don't know that," he denied.

"He's asleep. You did _not_ apologize."

"Sure I did," he argued back. "Just because he wasn't awake to –"

"_Ray_," Horatio warned. "You said that you would apologize."

"And I did."

"You know that that is not true," the redhead repeated. "And you also know that… your _mother_ will never accept that."

And as much as he wanted to deny it, as much as he could rationalize a fake apology to himself, he could not do the same with Horatio's words. Because the man was right; his mother would never let him get away with that. Which meant…

He had to apologize.

"Fine,' Ray relented through gritted teeth.

"Good man." Nodding his approval, Horatio turned away and headed back towards the kitchen, leaving Ray Junior to wonder just how humiliating an actual apology would be.

* * *

She stood underneath the hot spray of the shower, her mind spinning faster than the water swirling around the metal drain at her feet. The _stench_ of Rick was quickly being washed off of her body, Yelina's hands working eagerly to remove all traces of him from her body.

But that was easier said than done. When she'd stepped into the bathroom, she had purposely chosen _not_ to look at her face; the bruise given to her by her _son_ was one she cared not to glance at. But the marks Stetler had left were harder to miss, her hips, chest, and thighs lightly stained black and blue and red. And that meant, while she could wash away some things he'd left, others would stay with her for a few days, maybe a few weeks.

With a sigh, she supposed that that was the price for asking him to mark her, was the price for being an _idiot_.

Of course, if she were being honest with herself, she could see that the bruises were the least of her problems when it came to her afternoon tryst. Marks would eventually heal, but other things were going to linger… _fester_. Because despite leaving Stetler's almost an hour ago, Yelina couldn't get his words out of her head.

Honestly, of all the things she despised about him, it was his ability to get into her mind, to ask all the questions that would torture her for days that was the worst. And as much as she wished she could ignore him, ignore his obvious attempts to irritate and manipulate her, she couldn't.

_God_, she couldn't.

And not only did she hate him for that, she hated herself for not being able to push his accusations aside as well.

It truly drove her nuts, knowing that the self-doubt growing within her had some of its roots in his words. But there was no stopping that, it seemed, no matter how hard she wished differently. And that meant all Yelina could really do was contemplate his words as she showered.

Her hands running through her tangled, wet curls, she considered what Rick had said about her time in Brazil. Ever since she had returned, he'd been curious about why she'd left, and it seemed like no answer was good enough for him. Because no amount of telling him that it had been for her son had convinced him, had gotten him to drop the matter. If anything, the more she tried to explain her motives, the less Stetler believed her.

And oddly enough… Yelina could recognize that the less he believed her, the less she did as well. It was weird admittedly, but somehow his doubt created and reinforced her own, and now it was making her feel as though…

She had gone to Brazil for other reasons.

The words sounding true as soon as she had thought them, Yelina understand deeply in that moment that Stetler had been right. It had nothing to do with her son, nothing to do with the wonderful idea that a boy should know his father.

Those things were nice, would have been nice to believe in anyway, but in her heart, she was beginning to see that getting on that airplane had had so much more to do with herself than Ray Junior. Not even remotely about family and duty and what was right for her son, leaving had been a way – the _only_ way – to answer the question her husband's faked death had raised within her:

Had any of it been real?

Had he loved her at all?

Vehemently pushing the questions out of her mind, Yelina didn't have the heart to think about them anymore; she knew the answer anyway, and right now, all she wanted to do was sleep, to get into bed and pretend that things could somehow be better once more.

Getting out of the shower, she barely bothered to towel herself dry. Her hands eagerly moving the terrycloth across her body, it was more about making sure she wouldn't literally drip water. And after a minute, when she was satisfied that her skin was sufficiently dry, she grabbed the pajama pants and thick cable-knit sweater off of the back of the toilet.

The clothes were definitely too warm for this weather, too heavy under normal circumstances. But at the moment, they were what she wanted, the need to burrow into thick things, to be able to pretend that that warmth could ease the shaking in her fingers, overrode all else.

Unceremoniously pulling the clothes onto her body, Yelina left the bathroom, every part of her desperate for her bed.

And yet, the second she stepped a foot into her bedroom, she could tell that sleep wouldn't come quite so easily for her. Because standing in her bedroom doorway, an ice pack in his hands, was Horatio. "She comes back," he said quietly, announcing his presence.

She shook her head as she moved towards her enticing mattress. 'I don't want to talk about this, Horatio. Not right now."

He pressed her lightly. "We need to."

"I can't." Irritation was slowly beginning to build at his insistence.

But he clearly wasn't backing down, prodding a little more. "It's important."

And at that point, honestly, Yelina was too tired to argue anymore. Especially after seeing in his eyes a determination that said he wasn't going to go away anytime soon, she capitulated. "Fine," she said with an irritated sigh.

Her body crawling into the bed eagerly, she glanced back at him, a resolved look on her face. "Just make it quick," she ordered, knowing that the longer this continued, the harder it would be to move past it.

_End (61/??)_


	62. Chapter 61: Walk Beside Me

Author's Notes: I'd first like to apologize for the long wait between chapters. The long and short of it is basically I had other things to work on and then my computer cruelly died while writing this chapter. Thanks to OkieBeth05 for the review. Also thank you to my beta, Olly, for all of her help.

_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, although I wish I did._

**No Other One  
****Chapter Sixty-One: Walk Beside Me  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_Sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing. There is a time for silence. A time to let go and allow people to hurl themselves into their own destiny. And a time to prepare to pick up the pieces when it's all over." – Gloria Naylor _

Clumsily Yelina crawled into her bed as though she hadn't slept in years. Every muscle in her body aching, every cell within her begging for a few minutes of peace, it didn't matter that Horatio's eyes were firmly fixed on her figure. He might have wanted to talk, but she didn't particularly care about what he had to say – as awful as that sounded.

Or maybe that wasn't exactly true, she thought to herself, as she pulled the blankets up around her shoulders. She _did_ care about his opinion. Try as she might to ignore it by telling herself it didn't matter, she knew that his opinion meant a lot to her.

And in this case, if he were to say something she didn't want to hear… if he said something like how this was _her_ fault, she wouldn't be able to take it. Because even if this _were_ her fault, hearing it… was not what she could handle at the moment.

_Truly_, if he blamed her for this, she would not be able to accept that.

She wasn't sure _what_ exactly she would do, but Yelina understood intuitively that her reaction would be bad.

And yet, even as her head hit the pillow and she closed her eyes, she realized that Horatio hadn't said anything at all. Mumbling slightly, she asked him, "You said you wanted to talk?" When she heard no response, she told him, "If you're nodding your head, I cannot see that, Horatio."

Hearing him clear his throat then, she was surprised by his first words. "I brought you some ice… for your eye."

"I don't want it," she told him dismissively. "I'm already cold." She sounded more petulant than she wanted to, but it couldn't be helped, Yelina supposed.

His footsteps muffled a little by the carpet, she could just barely hear him moving closer to her. "It's eighty-five degrees outside," Horatio pointed out. "If you are… _that_ cold… we have a problem."

She sighed. "I'm not _sick_ if that's what you're getting at."

God, she thought to herself, she was sounding like a child, like someone _completely_ ungrateful for his concern. And that was the last thing she wanted, because truly, Yelina… _did_ appreciate his concern, his attention towards her at the moment. Or at least she _would_ have if she weren't completely sure that it would disappear the second this family crisis was over; that was his way after all – to only be around when something absolutely horrible was happening.

Her thoughts beginning to descend into dark territory, she was viciously yanked from them in surprise at the feel of his warm fingertips brushing against her forehead. She gasped in reaction, her eyelids opening wide abruptly.

Not paying attention to her response, Horatio noted, probably to himself, "You don't feel feverish."

"I'm not sick," she repeated petulantly.

He nodded his head in agreement. But that didn't stop him from persisting, "You should put the ice on your eye. It'll reduce the swelling."

She shrugged. "The swelling doesn't concern me."

His lips immediately pressed together in something that approached a grimace, the disapproval he obviously felt so clear in his gaze. And because of that, she supposed it wasn't entirely shocking when he ignored her and put the cold ice pack over her eye anyway.

Yelina began to pull away, her body starting to scoot over on the bed so that she would be out of his reach. But Horatio had planned for that, it seemed. Because the instant she did that, he trapped her.

It was surprisingly easy to do; as she moved on the bed, he, getting the courage from who the hell knew where, plopped down on the mattress next to her, effectively preventing her from moving back. One of his arms moving around her to hold her in place, she couldn't go anywhere. And unless she wanted to roll over and lay on her injured eye, which she _didn't_ want to do, she had no choice but to allow him to place the ice pack on her face.

Which made her ask curiously, "Why does this matter to you? Why are you insisting on the ice?" It wasn't like him to push this way; it _definitely_ wasn't like him to get close to her like this of his volition, although she couldn't deny that it felt… _nice_. And that made her wonder what he was trying to do.

"Because," he drawled out slowly. "You and I need to have… a conversation you… are _not_ going to like. And…" His voice trailed off as he shook his head, clearly trying to find the right words to say. "And I don't want you to think that I'm… _intentionally_ trying to hurt you."

Rolling over onto her back so that she could more easily look at him, Yelina pointed out gently, "That's just it, Horatio. You never _mean_ to hurt me… you just do."

There was no accusation in the words, although she realized that it would be very easy to infuse her voice with that tone. Certainly up until a couple days – hell, a couple _hours_ ago, she would have been able to give her words that kind of meaning. Because up until Ray Junior had hit her, she'd been content in too many ways to cater to her anger, to express it as though it were perfectly acceptable to be _that_ angry.

But now…

She was no longer furious, no longer disgusted by all of the _nonsense_ that seemed to turn her life upside down periodically. If anything… she was resigned to it now in a way she had never been before.

Nevertheless, Horatio told her earnestly, "I _am_ sorry, Yelina."

"I'm not… I don't want an apology," she replied quickly.

"You deserve one." Conviction filled his gaze, making it the only emotion she could spot within his bright blue irises.

She hesitated at the idea, eventually replying, "Maybe."

Which made him consider her carefully. "That sounds as though you don't agree."

Yelina shrugged, the wet hair trapped underneath her body pulling slightly at the movement. "I don't care about apologies as much as I wish someone had told me that the Caine proclivity for _stupid_ behavior was inheritable."

He didn't deny or accept the claim, instead choosing to segue back to what had happened today. "Lets talk about Ray Junior then, all right?"

"I don't know what there is to say," she said simply.

Horatio didn't reply at first, which was nothing short of fascinating in her mind. Because he'd been the one to say that they needed to talk about what had happened – and yet he was also the one hesitating to actually discuss it.

But eventually, he told her, "Well… for starters, you could… tell me if this was… really an accident."

The words washing over her slowly, it took Yelina a second to understand the full implication of what he was saying. Realization taking its time to dawn on her, the minute she understood, she sat up straight, all exhaustion fleeing her immediately. "You don't think this is an accident."

His eyes softened a little at the idea that she might have to say, apparently, that her _son_ had hit her on purpose. "I need to know that it _is_," he clarified gently.

"It was an accident," she told him simply. Even to her own ears, she didn't think it sounded particularly convincing.

Which was almost laughable, because it _was_ the truth. She _didn't_ believe that Ray Junior had hit her on purpose. She knew with all of her heart that his fist had been meant for Kyle and only Kyle.

But nevertheless, she sounded as though she were lying. And she could only think that that had nothing to do with what had happened and everything to do with her childish desire to ignore the need to reassure Horatio.

Not out of _spite_, she told herself quickly. In truth, she didn't want her brother-in-law to think that Raymond had hurt her intentionally. It was just… that she didn't feel like putting the energy into comforting the redhead at the moment. She didn't feel like reassuring _him_ and making sure that _he_ perfectly understood the gravity of the situation. Because, although she couldn't be quite certain, she thought it was his job at the moment to make sure that _she_ was okay, to make sure that _she_ didn't believe this was intentional.

Sighing she pushed the resentment threatening to seize hold of her to the side. Or at least, she tried to, the feeling managing to bleed through her words when she said, "Or, I suppose I should say it was as accidental as punching the wrong person can possibly be."

Horatio smirked at the remark. But the slight ease in his posture quickly disappeared. All graveness returning to him, he asked, "So… you can tell me that this hasn't happened before?"

Her entire demeanor changed.

As though he had ignited some ember within her, an anger that could not be extinguished burned rampantly within her. The idea that he could even _think_ that Ray Junior would do that – or more importantly, that she would _accept_ that kind of behavior – made her jaw clench together and eyes darken and narrow in fury, in _disgust_.

Her teeth gritted, she nearly snarled, "If I didn't believe that our family had exchanged enough physical blows today, I would be _sorely_ tempted in this moment to –"

"You know I have to ask," Horatio insisted quietly.

"_No_. You _don't_. You –"

He interrupted smoothly, "Two days ago, if you had asked me what I thought the boy was capable of… _this_ would _not_ be on that list."

And she couldn't blame him for feeling that way. There was a certain amount of disbelief coursing throughout her own body as well. There was the feeling, warranted or not, that what Ray Junior had done today had gone beyond anything they had thought him capable of.

"At this point," Horatio admitted slowly, his soft voice interrupting her thoughts. "I… don't know for _sure_ that he hasn't… done this before."

"He hasn't."

But her denial didn't convince him, she realized almost immediately. Because he mentioned in an almost reluctant way, "There were…" He cleared his throat. "There have been bruises… on you… lately. Bruises that I can't and you _won't_ explain."

"You are unbelievable," Yelina replied, her brow furrowed in disbelief. "Just a few hours ago, you would have accused your own _son_ of hurting me, and now, you think… I don't know… what? That my son did it?"

He looked at her carefully, his eyes almost searching for some sort of a tell that would let him know whether or not Ray Junior had hurt her in the past. And _that _truthfully angered her even more than she already was, because it meant that it didn't exactly matter how she replied; he would be looking beyond that nonetheless.

He would be distrusting of _her_ no matter what.

"My son… has his problems," Yelina told him tersely. "He isn't the most… _normal_ fourteen-year-old. And considering the things he's gone through in his life – his father faking his own death, his father _actually_ dying, being kidnapped – taking _all of that_ into consideration, can you really be shocked that he has problems?"

In a way, it _destroyed_ her to describe her own child in such a manner. For all of her attempts to give Ray Junior a normal life, for all of her efforts to make him a good, healthy boy, when she was able to speak like _that_, it made her believe that all of her work had been for naught. And given the truth in her words, she supposed that she _must_ have failed.

"But," she continued, shoving the thought and the lump in her throat to the side. "He isn't _abusive_."

"And if he were," Horatio asked sincerely. "Would you tell me?"

Her eyes flashed dangerously at him, her jaw clenched together so tightly that she was sure she was going to chip all of her teeth because of the pressure. His words, however true they might have been, quickly began to draw the ire out of her marrow, easily making her feel the need to say something cruel to him in return.

But he didn't exactly give her a chance, as he continued, "I know that… you would _not_."

"Well, why would I need to tell you, Horatio?" Her voice was snotty, although she didn't particularly care about that fact. "You look at a situation and draw unwarranted conclusions no matter what. Why would I need to say a thing?"

Yelina couldn't deny that she was rather pleased by the way he seemed to tense against the mattress, his ramrod straight back becoming impossibly straighter at her words. And this time it was he who had to bite back whatever angry comment she was sure he wanted to utter, instead telling her, "If I am… wrong about the situation… then tell me what happened." As an afterthought, he corrected, "Tell me what _really_ happened."

Her lips parted ever so slightly at the prompt, at her slow realization that he would never let this go until he knew exactly what had happened while she'd been tailing Kyle that short time ago. And that too made her angry, because once again, it was _Horatio's_ needs being put before her own; it was his desire to know the truth that came first and _not_ respect for her feelings, her wishes, _her_ experiences.

Moving to the foot of the bed, she put as much distance as she possibly could between them without having to get up. "Truthfully, Horatio…" She shook her head in dismay. "Part of me would _really_ like to keep what happened a secret, because it would drive _you_ as crazy as you are making _me_ right now."

Glancing down at her fingernails that needed a manicure more badly than the rest of her needed space, Yelina waited for an apology from him. Waited for an apology that wasn't going to come, she quickly realized, his silence telling. And she supposed it was stupid to think that he might drop the subject; Horatio, in his quest to protect everyone and everything, often resembled an untrained, selfish dog with a bone dipped in beef fat.

Why should now be any different?

Because she wanted it to be?

Because she _hoped_ that he would instinctively understand that she needed a friend and _not_ an interrogator?

Pushing a wet curl out of her face, she finally conceded, realizing that there was no point in hiding the truth from him any longer. "Well, fine. The day I was following Kyle, the waiter – the man who ended up tackling your son when he tried to run – grabbed me," she said with a shrug.

"If that were true," he drawled out slowly. "Why would you –"

She interrupted him, finishing the sentence by asking, "Keep it a secret?"

"Yes." There was something about the tone of his voice that suggested he thought she would tell him if her story were actually true.

Glaring at him, Yelina defended herself. "Miami is filled with testosterone-motivated men. I really didn't think I needed to tell you of my encounter with one."

But that was clearly not enough of an explanation for him. "Yelina, if that… were true… why didn't you tell me what had happened when I began to suspect Kyle?"

"Maybe I didn't think it was worth mentioning. _Perhaps_ I thought it didn't warrant your inevitable reaction, or perhaps I was just foolish enough to think that you could respect _my_ desire for privacy on the matter," she told him coolly.

And that made him look at her dejectedly, made him look at her as though she had told him something so heartbreaking he couldn't bear to hear it. "I'm not… I'm not trying to hurt you, sweetheart," he replied gently. "I'm trying to protect you."

"I know," Yelina said, nodding her head in understanding.

Truth be told, she _did_ get that he was trying to protect her – he was _always_ trying to protect her, she lamented. And while part of her would never resent his concern, another part wished that he would understand… she _could_ take care of herself.

"But I don't need you to protect me from every little thing you perceive to be a threat," she told him, trying to choose her words as carefully as possible. "I'm not your child. I'm not your wife; it's not your job to –"

"Make sure that you're okay?" There was a hint of disbelief in his confused tones.

She gave him a pointed look. "You weren't making sure I was okay. You're not making sure I'm okay _now_." Even to her own ears, Yelina's voice sounded strangled, forcing her to swallow back the bitterness she swore she could taste. "You are… treating me as though I am a suspect… as though we're in an _interrogation._ And maybe that makes sense," she supposed as an aside. "You clearly believe that you are only of use when you're fighting the people who would hurt us."

His hand placing the forgotten ice pack on her pillow, Horatio told her almost sarcastically, "Between you and the boy… I would almost believe that that quality is… a bad thing."

"No." She shook her head emphatically and repeated, "_No_. It's an admiral quality to possess…" Yelina paused to let her words sink in. "But there are times – _situations_ – where that kind of behavior is _not_ needed _or_ wanted."

He replied with a non-committal "I see."

They fell into a short uncomfortable silence then, each second passing making her feel increasingly guilty about what she'd just said. Because, although, in her heart, she knew she was justified to say what she had, part of her couldn't help but feel… ungrateful.

Before her husband had returned, before Stetler and Suzie and all of their other issues, Yelina had been intently aware of just how desirable Horatio was. Nearly every day, she'd been faced with women who had practically clamored for him. And it wasn't like she didn't understand why; Horatio was handsome and kind, sympathetic and strong, and the idea that she essentially had this "perfect man" in front of her but she was asking him to change seemed so awful and ungrateful.

"I'm sorry," she muttered quietly. "I don't mean to sound…" Her voice trailed off with a sigh, the words she needed to say just beyond her reach.

As she ran her tongue along her teeth, Yelina tried to figure out what she wanted to say. And when the exact phrasing remained a mystery a minute later, she decided to just go with it, throwing caution to the wind. "I don't mean to sound so ungrateful," she confessed. "Because… I understand that you're trying to help."

"But I'm not," he finished for her.

She hesitated at that moment to continue, the feeling that she was only making things worse nearly overwhelming. "Not really, no." Licking her lips, Yelina explained, "You're trying to protect me, and I understand that. But what I need right now is not to know just how many times you suspect my son has _attacked_ me. I don't need to be treated like I am some… _silly_ battered woman."

He shifted on the bed so that he was closer to her. "I don't think that about you," he told her earnestly. Obviously taking her immediate silence as disbelief, he repeated with more emphasis, "I do _not_ think of you that way. At all, Yelina."

Cocking her head so she could look at him more clearly, she began to search for some sort of sign in his gaze that he was telling the truth. And yet as soon as she started to do that, she stopped herself, understanding all too well that if he were lying, she didn't want to know.

"Then…" Glancing away from him, she said in a soft voice, "Please… _please_ be my friend, not my interrogator."

Horatio didn't reply, and at first, she assumed that that was his form of a rejection. And perhaps it was wrong to immediately believe that, she thought to herself as she waited for him to say the words. Perhaps it would have been _nicer_ to give him the benefit of the doubt.

But the truth was Horatio had been protective of so many people for so long that she wondered if he were even capable of taking a step back from that. Not to sound entirely pessimistic, Yelina had seen it a thousand times in their line of work – the cop who couldn't leave the outlook they needed to possess to get the job done _at_ work. And especially with Horatio, he had been through so much in his life; _they_ had been so much in their lives that it was probably even more difficult for him to believe that he could take a break from the role of protector.

And yet, despite her initial belief, Horatio suddenly nodded his head. "Okay," he told her, his voice unsure of the prospect.

And for the first time since she'd seen him that day, Yelina felt as though she could breathe once more. Because for the first time since the day had _started_, she finally felt as though she had a friend.

_End (62/??)_


	63. Chapter 62: The pink Tadpole

Author's Notes: Finally, we have an update! Thank you to RedHotLover for reviewing the last chapter and to my beta for her infinite amount of encouragement. I definitely appreciate it.

_Disclaimer: I don't own it. _

**No Other One  
****Chapter Sixty-Two: The pink Tadpole  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_Above all things let us never forget that mankind constitutes one great brotherhood; all born to encounter suffering and sorrow, and therefore bound to sympathize with each other." – Albert Pike_

Yelina had set the terms for him: she wanted a friend.

Everything inside of Horatio screamed that that probably was the last thing she needed at the moment, but he'd agreed to what she wanted anyway; he knew her well enough to know when she was in no mood to compromise. So he'd gone with it, with her wishes, despite knowing that within seconds, he would regret the decision.

And he _did_ regret it in some ways, especially now when she was looking at him to say something, to do something. Because the truth was: he didn't know what to say _as a friend_; he didn't consider himself to _be_ a friend. They were more than that, more than people you simply got a beer with at the end of a rough shift.

Yelina was his _family_.

The weight of the word one he could never ignore, it was something that made sitting here, on her bed, looking at her black eye, and being expected to ignore it impossible. Clearing his throat, he held up the ice pack he'd stolen from the recesses of her perfectly clean refrigerator. "Put this back on your face."

Her expression hardened, almost dangerously so. And he knew that he had to quickly backtrack, realizing that he was about to cross a line with her that he had no desire to cross. Innocently, Horatio pointed out, "_Friends_… can give advice." But that didn't sound right to his ears, as it wasn't really advice he'd been giving, so he corrected, "Friends can make… suggestions."

Raising an eyebrow at him, she replied, suspicion lacing every word, "You're making a _suggestion_." She pretended to think about it for a second before shaking her head. "Sounds more like an order to me."

He held up his hands in innocence. "I'm not giving any orders. I can't _force_ you… to use the ice. _But_… I think it would be a good idea if you did."

She looked at him and then down at the icepack resting on his thigh. It was proof enough that she was considering the idea, which bolstered him somewhat, because it meant that she wasn't annoyed enough to dismiss his ideas outright.

He decided then to push her a little further in order to convince her to take the ice. Of course part of him thought that he might be pressing his luck too much, that they'd just come to some sort of agreement and he'd be wrecking it by cajoling her.

But then Horatio also considered that while a friend might not give _orders_, a friend would definitely help steer another in the right direction.

… And that was all he was doing, right?

Trying to sound casual, he told her, "I… understand that you're cold right now. And… I can appreciate that you…" He cocked his head to the side to look at her more sympathetically. "Might be hesitant to… take my advice on account of the fact that it… _would_ be _my_ advice," he finished.

"Horatio," she said quickly, her voice chastising. "I'm _not _so childish as to reject an idea on the basis that it's _yours_."

He wasn't entirely convinced of that fact, but he decided that it was probably best to go along with it. God only knew he didn't need to make today worse than it already was by picking a fight with her that they could completely avoid. Easily he agreed with her, "No, I understand that, Yelina. I'm just… trying to say that… as much as I understand your reticence, _perhaps_ it would be a good idea to take the ice." Going in for the kill, Horatio didn't give her a chance to speak by telling her, "You don't use the ice; the swelling doesn't go down as quickly, and _that_ means you're going to get a lot of questions at work."

She was silent for a second, her agreement on the matter practically confirmed in his mind. But he stayed quiet anyway, knowing that she needed to be the one to make the next move.

Biting down on her lower lip for a second, Yelina eventually sighed and reached for the ice. "Fine." Glad that she was agreeing, Horatio tried to hide the small half-smile playing on his lips form her. But it was clear that he didn't succeed, because her eyes – well, _eye_ (the one not covered by the ice pack) – narrowed on him. "Don't do that," she ordered.

"I'm not doing anything," he said innocently. His smile easily shifting into a smirk, he immaturely threw her words back at her, "And what happened to no orders?"

"I'm really not in the mood" was all the warning she gave him as she scooted back up the bed. Resting her back against the headboard, she shifted about to get more comfortable.

And Horatio couldn't help but sigh, the noise covered up by the sound of the icepack crinkling as Yelina put it back on her bruised face. Because as much as he realized he should feel as though he'd _won_ something by getting her to concede to the ice, the fact of the matter was… he felt completely and totally devoid of any sense of success.

How could he feel like anything else when nearly every conversation with Yelina these days ended with a fight? And even if he put that part of his life aside, he still couldn't feel successful, given the current state of the rest of his family.

Ray had attacked Kyle.

Ray had attacked _his own mother_.

There was no feeling of success to be had after both of those things had taken place.

And perhaps Yelina picked up on that sense of failure – or felt it herself, because she spoke up, her voice barely above a whisper, "How badly do you think I've screwed up if my son is capable of doing… _that_ and I had no idea?"

He looked over toward her, his gaze softening as the sentiment of her words resonated within him. "Yelina… this is _not_ your fault," he told her in slow tones.

But she didn't seem convinced. "If this were anyone else, you would blame them. Any other mother you would hold responsible."

Interestingly enough there was no accusation in her words, just a strong sense of knowing.

Shrugging, she sighed and added, "It's what people do – blame the mother."

"Not in this case."

Truth be told, he wanted to end the conversation there, end it before it got too personal. But Horatio felt he couldn't do that; he'd known Yelina for years, and he knew when he hadn't convinced her of anything.

And this was _definitely_ one of those times.

So he confessed in a deep voice, "Not when we both know that… if I'd known about Kyle – been a _father_ to him… this… wouldn't have happened."

But his words _didn't_ have their intended effect.

Instead of drawing out some of the self-recrimination within her, he'd only exacerbated it. And that fact became incredibly apparent when she laughed bitterly. "Horatio… if you'd raised Kyle, the only thing that would happen is that Ray would have attacked someone else."

"Do you really believe that?" He wasn't doubtful, just curious.

"I _know_ it." There was a slight pause from her before she added, "I am _convinced_ of it."

"Why?"

"Because…" Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head. "Because even without your mistakes, he would _still_ be… _screwed up_ enough to do that. To get into a fight, I mean."

In some ways, Horatio didn't disagree, but given that Ray Junior _was_ his nephew, the redhead felt that he should fight for the boy anyway. "He's a boy; boys get into –"

She cut him off with an angry glare followed by the even angrier words, "Oh, do _not_ try and give me the old 'boys will be boys.'"

"Well…"

Her response was nearly a snarl. "Acting like a _sociopath_ does not fall into that –"

"He was angry… _jealous_, Yelina." He gave her a look that was a cross between knowing and imploring. "And I _know_ that _you_ are capable of… understanding what that feels like."

Dropping the ice pack on her lap, she peered at him through disbelieving eyes. "I have been jealous and angry in my life, yes. But I have _never_ attacked someone, much less someone in my _own_ family." He was about to say something, but she spoke up first. "And don't try to convince me that the difference between him and myself is that I'm a _woman_. Having seen what women are capable of, you should know – "

"I wasn't going to try to convince you of that," he consoled in a soothing voice. A wry smile tugging at his lips, Horatio quipped, "I cannot _possibly_ argue that _men_… have the greater temper when… I… know you."

The joke hit home – he could tell – despite her obvious desire to remain serious; her lips turned ever so slightly upward, the irritation visible in her eyes completely forced, letting him know that she was enjoying the comment even as she pretended to despise it. "You're not funny," she forced herself to say.

Her words made him grin. "It's a _little_ funny."

"It _really_ isn't." She irritably buried under the covers a little more. "And joking aside," Yelina quickly added, changing the topic of conversation forcefully. "We should… I don't know – _try_ to figure out what to do with Ray Junior."

His smile disappeared as the reality of the situation flooded his senses. All of a sudden feeling incredibly sobered, Horatio sighed loudly.

He hadn't honestly expected the reason he was currently with Yelina to disappear; what Ray Junior had done was too serious to allow for that. But nevertheless…

Horatio would have liked a few minutes where he didn't have to consider just how horribly adrift their family currently was. "The boy's going to apologize," he offered, almost in the hope that it would be enough to make everything right again.

But Yelina wasn't willing to let him keep the naïveté he was currently grasping at. "And that's going to make everything okay?" There was disbelief and disdain lacing every tone, rounding out her rich accent. Scoffing at him, she said, "We probably shouldn't have even left Raymond alone."

He cocked his head towards her. "You don't believe that he would do something… stupid. Do you?"

His question wasn't a matter of concern over the possibilities over what Ray Junior might do; truth be told, despite everything that the boy had done today, Horatio didn't believe that the teenager would do something stupid now. Not when his mother and Horatio _himself _were here, ready to stop him. Ray had his problems – obviously, he did – but Horatio believed in his heart that there were some things the boy just wasn't capable of and hurting another family member when he'd said he wouldn't, hurting another when there was almost a sure chance of being caught and punished just wasn't one of them.

That Yelina seemed to disagree with this assessment struck Horatio as curious, so he'd asked the question.

"I'm surprised that you don't," she said darkly. "He knew it was wrong to _attack_ Kyle the first time. _And_ the second time, but that surely didn't stop him."

It was a point he couldn't deny but one he had an impulse to fight nonetheless. Because if he just accepted that what she was saying was true, then there was no hope for his nephew.

And that thought was simply too frightening to consider.

"Yelina," he warned her. "You _cannot_ give up on the boy."

Her eyes narrowed on him in a manner that reminded him of hawks spotting their prey. Hot anger rolled off of her body in waves, the emotion easily enveloping him in the knowledge that he needed to tread carefully. However, before he even had a chance to say anything more, Yelina let it be known that he had, in fact, already crossed a line. "Do not tell me what I can and cannot do. And do _not_ tell _me_ to do something you yourself are so unwilling to do for your _own_ son."

There was no hiding just how taken aback he was by the bitterness of her words. His eyes widening a little, he was surprised by just how quickly the overall mood in the room could change.

"I'm not _giving up_ on him, Horatio," she told him, the words awkwardly coming out of her. "I am simply accepting that…" She ran her tongue along her teeth, as she seemed to ponder what her next words should be. "Raymond is not the boy I envisioned him to be. I trusted him to know where the limits were; he has shown that he doesn't or doesn't care."

Shifting the ice pack in her hand a little, Yelina shrugged before offering gravely, "I suppose I should have known that he would need that sort of thing to be explicitly spelled out for him… I should have known what he needed."

A sadness descended upon them that both seemed to clearly feel. Her vicious words were promptly forgotten when compared to what she was saying now.

Licking his lips, he replied slowly, consolingly, "You… can't blame yourself."

She smiled a little, but it was completely devoid of happiness. "I… never wanted to be like my mother," she admitted tentatively, plopping the ice unceremoniously onto the nightstand next to her.

"Well, thank God for that," he replied with a soft smile.

There was perhaps a little bit more truth in the joke than he would have liked to admit. Although his interactions with Yelina's mother had been few and far between, Horatio could honestly say that each and every one of them had been more miserable than the last.

She was… completely unlike Yelina, so much so that the fact that Yelina had come _from_ that woman seemed almost impossible.

With no exaggeration, they were completely different. Where as Yelina was compassionate, the other was largely unsympathetic towards anyone. Where as one had a nearly infinite amount of patience, the other constantly seemed ready to violently boil over. And maybe most importantly, for Horatio anyway, where as one was his friend, his _family_, the other looked at him as though he were personally the devil.

Granted, as of late, the younger Salas seemed almost intent on imitating the elder one… but Horatio couldn't hold that against Yelina. Not really anyway, because in his heart, he knew that he _deserved_ to be treated with such palpable disdain.

Pushing the depressing thought aside immediately, he tried to pay attention to what Yelina was saying in response to his remark. To be honest, he sort of expected her to be angry. But she wasn't – not even in the least.

"You don't know the half of it," she said dryly.

That much was obviously true. Aside from his own personal experiences with the woman, he only knew what his brother, nephew, and Yelina herself had told him. And what he'd heard…

Well, it had never been good.

Horatio didn't really know if there were positive things to be said about the woman. All he knew was that what little he _had_ heard was enough to make him angry at and distrustful of the person responsible for raising Yelina.

His eyes warmly looking her over, he wondered if he should press Yelina for details and almost immediately decided against it. Aside from the fact that she was in no mood to be pushed, he could empathize all too well with her desire for privacy. And considering he'd never spoken to her about his own childhood with candor, he realized that it would be unfair, to say the least, to ask her to do the same. So he simply said nothing at all, instead choosing to wait her out and see what she would do next.

"There's this… story in Colombia, a fairy tale, I guess… something parents read to their children all the time, anyway," she said suddenly, the non sequitur piquing his curiosity. He wasn't sure how this was related to anything they'd been talking about, but he figured it was best to stay quiet.

Shaking her head a little, Yelina explained, "I don't remember the name exactly, but it was about this pink tadpole who ignored his mother and went outside to play with his friends." She paused for a moment before adding, "They were rats or mice – something in that family. And they all ignore their parents and go outside and get drunk and end up dying. Something – I don't remember what – eats them."

"Sounds like a classic," Horatio replied dryly.

The comment made her smile widely and shake her head vehemently. "No, it's a _terrible_ story," she admitted, her grin staying in place. "The whole thing used to terrify me – the idea that I would die if I did something my parents disapproved of I mean."

And then she immediately sobered up.

Her good mood vanishing, Yelina confessed, "I didn't… want Ray Junior to ever feel that… his _goal_ in life was to please _me_." Her voice trailed off slowly, the words taking on a pensive quality towards the end in such a way that suggested to him that she was second-guessing that choice.

"Yelina," he told her gently as he shifted a little on the bed. "You… did _not_ do anything wrong."

But she was clearly unconvinced by his reassurance. "If that were true, we wouldn't be here" was her curt reply.

"That's not true. I haven't exactly… helped matters." He didn't expect her to deny what he was saying and as a result wasn't surprised when she said nothing.

Which wasn't to say that it didn't hurt a little. This entire time he'd been defending her choices in life, trying to reassure her that she was a great mother, and simply put… it would have been _nice_ to have her return the favor.

But instead, she quietly asked, "What are we going to do?"

Not for the first time since Kyle had come into their lives, Horatio didn't have an answer.

_End (63/??)_


	64. Chapter 63: Sisyphus and Sons

Author's Notes: Thanks to OkieBeth05 for the review. Don't worry; although it may take me a while these days to update this fic, I haven't abandoned it and won't. I've gotten this far, so I think I might as well see it to the end… wherever that may be. And no, you're not imagining things. The ice between Horatio and Yelina is beginning to melt.

Also thank you to iluvhoratio for reviewing. I agree – Horatio and Yelina are pretty frustrating. But hopefully things are about to get back on track. And lastly, thanks to my beta for her help.

_Disclaimer: The show isn't mine. _

**No Other One  
****Chapter Sixty-Three: Sisyphus and Sons  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_Hope is important because it can make the present moment less difficult to bear. If we believe that tomorrow will be better, we can bear a hardship today." – Thich Nhat Hanh_

Ray Junior wasn't sure how long he'd sat there.

Okay.

That was a lie.

In an effort to not die of boredom while waiting for Kyle to wake up, Ray had gotten in the unfortunate habit of staring at his watch. And by his count, _at least_ three minutes had passed since he'd sat down and waited. Which probably didn't seem like a lot to most people. But considering Ray Junior was neither patient nor eager to make an apology to this asshat, time seemed to pass extra slowly as though to punish him for what he'd done.

Of course, he thought it was totally dumb to think that the most basic aspects of the universe could be out to screw him. Because if you started thinking like that, then waking up and finding yourself still rooted to the ground via gravity would probably make you lose your mind, Ray Junior thought.

Or something like that.

Metaphors weren't exactly his thing, especially when he was still _waiting_ for Kyle to _wake up_.

The seconds passing excruciatingly slow, Ray Junior had to stop himself from poking his… cousin.

God, he hated that word – _cousin_. Thanks to his mother's sibling-less family tree and Horatio's perfect impersonation of a monk, Ray hadn't ever had one before. He hadn't even considered what having one would be like. And now that he _did_ have one, the only thing he wanted was for it to _go away_.

True, he'd promised Horatio that he would try harder… be a good boy and all of that shit. But to be honest, Ray wasn't sure if he could hold himself to that promise; there was just something so unspeakably, indescribably awful about this situation, and part of him thought he might explode if things didn't reach some sort of normalcy soon.

Of course, given the way his family seemed to get new members, he was doubtful that that would happen any time soon. The whole Salas-Caine clan had been too messed up for way too long to suddenly wake up and realize just how screwed up they really were.

And Ray Junior understood all too well that, thanks to his own behavior today, he now had to count himself in on that. Because _now_, he too was part of the madness, part of the reason nobody wanted to touch his family with a ten foot pole.

Well… what else could you expect when you hit your _own_ mother?

Christ.

It sounded worse when he thought about it like that, when he put into words just what it was that he had done. It sounded worse and so much more… _real_.

Not that it hadn't felt real before, he conceded. Right after his fist had connected with his mother, the pain in his knuckles had stopped him from ever truly believing that this had all been a figment of his imagination. But somehow that had been different than the way it felt right now. Because now, hitting his mother had become… well, he didn't know how to describe it. It was like… before right when it had happened, it had been real and all that, but it was new.

Now it was something he could _reference_ – like "Oh, remember the time I punched my mom in the face?" Or "the day after I punched my mother in the face, I ate an ice cream sandwich" or whatever. It wasn't just a random, boring event anymore; it had a life of its own; it had ramifications, and Ray Junior knew without a doubt that there probably wouldn't ever be a day where someone in their family _didn't_ think about it.

The thought made him sigh loudly, and it was that noise that made Kyle _finally_ wake up. The older – well at least Ray Junior thought he was older – teenager's eyes immediately trained themselves onto Ray. Which he kind of liked, if Ray Junior were being honest.

It meant Kyle was worried.

And that meant that although Ray had to apologize, Kyle was unlikely to forget that he wasn't welcome in the family. Which made Ray feel much better about having to pretend to be nice to the kid.

"Look," he told Kyle. "I don't like you."

"Feeling's mutual," Kyle snapped quickly, despite having just woken up.

"Good. Cause I don't want to be your _cousin_, much less your friend," Ray admitted in a matter-of-fact tone.

Standing up, Kyle folded his arms across his chest. "_Again_ – feeling's mutual."

Well, Ray thought dryly, at least they were on the same page when it came to _that_. "Whatever," he said, dismissing the blond. "I told Horatio that I would apologize to you, so… you know, sorry."

"How touching." Kyle gave him a smirk that made Ray Junior think of his uncle.

The slight bit of sarcasm, the dryness of it all – it was classic Horatio. Kyle probably had no idea that that was who he was imitating, but Ray Junior, having known Horatio all of his life, knew exactly what the comment reminded him of.

And he hated everyone in the damn world for that fact – Horatio for being so… unique in his inability to be normal, Kyle for being able to _somehow_ reflect his heritage, despite having barely spent any time around his father, and everyone else for just… existing.

"That _almost_ sounded like you meant it," Kyle added for good measure.

Ray's face screwed up as though he'd just bitten into something incredibly sour. "Like I said, I don't want to be your friend. And… okay, frankly, I don't give a shit about hitting _you_," he conceded casually. "I mean maybe I shouldn't have done it at school or whatever, but to be honest, I'm not too heartbroken about it. But I made a promise. So… again, like I said, _sorry_."

Kyle remained unimpressed. "I don't know who you made a promise to, but I kind of doubt that your mom is going to –"

"Leave her out of this," Ray said in a low voice.

"No," Kyle replied. "I won't, because you brought her into this mess."

"Please." Ray rolled his eyes for dramatic effect. "I didn't do anything."

Kyle groaned in irritation. "You hit me in school, because you were too much of an _idiot_ to think about _at least_ waiting to hit me when nobody was around."

"Fuck you," Ray snapped.

Not that Cousin Dearest paid attention to the comment. "So the school had to call her, and then she had to clean up the mess you made. So if you didn't want to bring her into this," Kyle concluded knowingly. "You probably should have thought about it a little more."

"Well, I'm sorry," Ray replied sarcastically. "Some of us don't have the criminal mastermind _you_ clearly possess. I mean… who the hell meets their dad in jail?"

And though his words were meant to hurt, Kyle hardly seemed phased by it. "See, that's where you're going to hang yourself, Ray. You can apologize all you want to me right now. But we both know that Yelina's going to see right through you."

Ray Junior scoffed. "No, she won't. You might think she's really smart and stuff, but the truth is her weakness is turning a blind eye to the people she loves."

And that was so much more than a mere bluff. That much Ray Junior knew in his heart. After all, he'd lived through the ramifications of that weakness for so long, and there was no doubt in his mind that she would continue to pretend like nothing was wrong. Because just as she couldn't face the truth about her husband, Ray's mother, he doubted, probably couldn't face it with her own son either.

Which filled him with relief and irritation all at the same time. Truth be told, he wasn't sure if her self-inflicted ignorance was a good or bad thing. Half the time, he thought it was good, because it meant he could get away with things no other parent would ever allow. But then, on the other hand, it meant that his mother was too interested in protecting herself to _parent_.

And maybe that was really what he'd wanted all along – to have the security of boundaries.

He didn't know, because even as he thought that that was probably what he wanted, another part of him rejected the notion wholeheartedly. And it was only then that Ray Junior considered how difficult a position he'd put his mother in; it was kind of hard to know what to give your kid if your kid didn't know what the hell he wanted, he supposed.

"I kind of doubt…" Kyle interrupted slowly. "That she's going to be willing to give you the benefit of the doubt after what you did to her today."

"Well, I don't," Ray said.

Privately, he was pretty sure that his mother's ability to forgive nearly anything wasn't a _good_ thing. Considering it usually meant assholes like _Stetler_ got to stick around much longer than they should have, he couldn't be convinced of that fact. Nor did it make him feel all that good to know that he himself was now trying to take advantage of that part of her in the same way so many others had already.

In fact, if anything, it made him feel like shit. And so, he was kind of glad that Kyle changed the subject by asking, "Is Horatio here yet?"

Ray nodded his head. "He's talking to my mom right now."

"Where?"

"In the bedroom," he said simply.

Kyle, clearly not realizing that his dad was a monk, raised an eyebrow. And honestly, if it had been anyone else in that room with his uncle, Ray Junior doubted he would have been offended by the sentiment. But as it was his own mother, he couldn't help but be appalled by the implication. "Dude, that's my mom. And _your_ dad."

Shrugging, Kyle responded, "Doesn't mean they're not doing it."

"They're not _doing it_," Ray yelled back hastily.

As much as he could deal with the fact that his mother and his uncle had probably had sex with someone at _some _point (Ray wasn't entirely ready to abandon the theory of an E.T. finger touching sort of moment), he could _not_ handle what Kyle was saying.

Ugh, just the idea of his mother and _Horatio_ – gross.

Gross gross gross.

But Kyle didn't seem disgusted at all. With a shrug, he simply said, "Stranger things have happened."

And damn it, Ray Junior knew he couldn't disagree.

* * *

Yelina sighed when Horatio admitted that he had no magical plan to make them all get along like… well, like one big happy family. "I was hoping you wouldn't say that," she confessed.

"Believe me," he told her honestly. "If I… had _any_ idea of how to make this… work, you… would be the first to know."

She didn't doubt him when he said that. As much as she had come to question her trust in him, as much as she had come to understand that Horatio had an ability to hurt her like no other, she believed wholeheartedly that he would readily fix this if he could.

Glancing over to him, she said calmly, "I suppose it's too late to see if there's a return policy on them, yes?"

He smiled a little but made a suggestion far more serious than hers had been. "I think… given the volatile nature of their relationship – Gross gross gross

"That's a nice way of putting it," she interrupted.

Horatio shrugged. "If you would _prefer_ I say, 'given your son's current homicidal urges,' I can. But that just seemed like _way_ too much to say."

Undignified though it was, Yelina couldn't help but snort a little at the remark. The situation itself wasn't funny at all, but hearing him put it like that… was nothing short of hilarious, because this whole entire thing was so ridiculous, so convoluted and silly.

Angling her body towards Horatio, she told him, "Actually, I _would_ prefer you to say it like that."

"All right," he said in a way that was mockingly dutiful. "I stand corrected. I… amend my previous statement to say: I think… given that your son has decided to cull the family tree –"

He didn't have a chance to finish the sentence; she'd begun to laugh so raucously that there was no point in talking over her. And to be honest, she didn't feel too guilty about that, because she could see him chuckling a little as well.

The mood in the room suddenly lightning, it felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. It felt like… how it had felt like years ago, before Rio and Marisol and Suzie. It felt like they were friends again, family again.

She liked it.

Which was almost ironic considering she'd been the one to pull away the last time they'd been this close. Of course, Yelina would maintain that she'd been pushed in that direction; being told, essentially, that Horatio had had a secret daughter had certainly provided enough motivation to stay away from him, to reconsider her friendship with him. And then, once she'd learned that Madison was in fact Raymond's… well, Horatio's lying had just reconfirmed her desire to wash her hands of the entire Caine family.

But now… right now, in this very moment, Yelina was beginning to remember just what it was she'd always liked about Horatio. On rare occasions he could be humorous and comforting at the same time, and she recalled just how much she cherished that side of him.

Yes, she liked this.

Her laugh settling into a warm smile, she told him, "I hope you have an actual idea in mind."

The mood darkening once more, Horatio returned to the matter at hand. "I do; we keep them apart. It's a… novel approach but one that should –"

"No," she immediately responded, shaking her head. "That's not going to work."

He cocked his head to the side. "No?"

"Horatio…" She sighed. "We can't just keep them apart. They go to the same school."

It was just an example, but apparently Horatio was intent on taking her as literally as he could. "So I'll have Kyle transferred," he replied simply.

Rolling her eyes, Yelina tried to explain to him just how stupid that would be. "Considering my son goes to that school, I know just how difficult it must have been for him _and_ you to get Kyle in there. It's not fair to remove him, to force him to start over at _another_ school."

"He _just_ started this one, Yelina."

But that wasn't enough to convince her. "It's not fair to him. Besides," she told him, determined to prove her point. "Even if you did transfer him, there are other things to consider."

"Such as?"

At that moment, she couldn't help but think just how _annoying_ his need to have everything spelled out could be. But nevertheless, she pushed the thought to the side, knowing that saying it aloud or dwelling on it would do very little good. So she forced her irritation down – deep down inside of her – and instead said, "What if they want to do the same sport, join the same club? Do we put their names in a hat to decide who gets to do what?"

She didn't give him a chance to respond before offering another example. "If Ray Junior wants you to do something with him on a Friday night, and Kyle happens to ask you to do something at the same time, how do you decide whose needs come first?"

Again, she didn't give him a chance to blurt out some sort of a half answer. "No matter what you do in any given situation, one will always be angry. Furious if it's Ray Junior. And at some point…" She shrugged. "At some point, one of them or both of them will feel like the decisions we're making are biased in some way."

"We can't win," he deduced… finally.

She gave him a pained look. "As easy a solution as it might seem, we can't just… keep them apart. There will be a time when they need to get along well enough so that they don't drive _us_ insane."

He sighed. "Well… then I don't have any suggestions."

"I was afraid you would say that."

Leaning back against the headboard once more, Yelina wondered if this were exactly how Sisyphus felt.

_End (64/??)_


	65. Chapter 64: Brick Wall

Author's Notes: It's been a long time since I updated, but better late than never, right? Thanks to my beta for the speedy turn around on this.

_Disclaimer: I don't own the show._

**No Other One****  
Chapter Sixty-Four: Brick Wall  
**_By Duckie Nicks_

"_I have a feeling that being in love sometimes means the projection of your desires onto another person." – Eric Braeden_

The alarm clock by the bed ticked loudly, the minute noise reminding Horatio that time was passing by and a decision needed to be made. Yelina had already struck down the notion of keeping Ray and Kyle separate for the foreseeable future. And for the life of him, Horatio couldn't really see why that was such a bad idea. Admittedly, it wasn't a _great_ plan, but it was better than lying together with _no_ plan of action in place.

And that was what they were doing right now – a whole lot of procrastinating with her at his side and an ice pack long forgotten between them.

Naturally, the implication of their current positions did not go unnoticed by him; especially with the way they were discussing their respective children, it was nearly impossible to miss the "couple" vibe in the room.

But then again it _always_ was.

At least it was for him anyway. Having never polled Yelina on how she felt, he didn't know her feelings on the matter. And truth be told, he didn't really care either; his own emotions were more than enough for him to handle in this case.

They always had been.

Over the years, Horatio had lamented the injustice of it all. The one woman who wanted him for reasons _not_ related to the badge (and the need-to-be-rescued complex it aroused in some women) had married his _brother_. The one woman Horatio had wanted more than anything else had married the most selfish, deranged bastard on the planet, and because Horatio had some honor in himself, he'd never crossed that line.

_Ever_.

Of course, the true irony of the situation was that Raymond would have easily tried to seduce any woman Horatio loved. The rules of brotherhood _never_ applied to Raymond, and with the flirtation always coming albeit unintentionally from Yelina, Horatio never ceased to feel like the only one abiding by the rules.

He was, and had been for quite some time, the only one following the rules of the game.

And he didn't even _want_ to play.

What Horatio _wanted_ was _her_.

What he wanted was her lips kissing his and her hand held tightly in his. What he wanted was her fingertips lightly pressed into his chest as she slept by his side and her face, partially obscured by her dark hair, to be the one he greeted every morning. What he wanted was her… _love_ and the unspoken by unequivocal promise to love him for the rest of their lives. What he _wanted_ – if he were being truly honest with himself – was the security that relationship could offer him.

But what he wanted, he could not have.

And since he couldn't have any of that, what Horatio _really_ wanted was a way to make all of that desire disappear.

But there didn't seem to be a way to make that happen. It was no easier, he realized, to forget his feelings than it was to find a solution to the Ray-Kyle divide in their family. And in Horatio's estimation, in both instances, if the problem couldn't be fixed, the best thing to do was… _avoid_ making the situation worse.

Without a doubt, it sounded childish. Even in his own mind, the plan sounded immature, sounded like he was trying to pretend that his feelings for Yelina or his nephew's feelings towards Kyle didn't exist.

The truth, however, wasn't that simple. He wouldn't deny that there was an element of avoidance involved; of _course_ there was. But more than anything what Horatio hoped was that time and space – _distance_ – would give him (and the boys) a fresh set of eyes upon which he could gaze at their problems.

He wanted a chance to step back and reassess, and even though that philosophy hadn't exactly worked with Yelina, he thought it might with Ray and Kyle. They were two hotheaded, troublesome boys; they could benefit from the distance, and maybe if they stewed in the knowledge that the other one existed… things could get better.

But in order to do that, Horatio knew he would need to convince Yelina. And doing _that_ was about as easy as herding cats.

He supposed, however, that it was worth a shot. If he could get her to be in agreement, they'd have a plan. They would have _something_ to rely on, and that was better than nothing.

His head cocked in her direction, he suggested slowly, "Maybe… some distance _is_ the best thing… for them. They need… time." And he could see the urge to interject rising inside of her, so he quickly added, "It wouldn't be long term. Okay? It wouldn't be… _forever_. Just until they can stand to be in the same room with one another."

Yelina arched an eyebrow and asked doubtfully, "And you don't think that dynamic would change more quickly if he forced them to -"

"I don't think that… _forcing_ the boys to do anything is going to work, Yelina."

She pursed her lips together in a momentary gesture that spoke to him about her irritation. It was such a small movement that anyone unfamiliar with her would have missed it. But having known her for nearly two decades, Horatio could _not_ say he was one of those people; he knew she was annoyed, and he knew that, even if he were to drop the matter now, there was no way to dissipate that feeling inside of her quickly. Because although, on the whole, she was fast to forgive, when it came to family…

Things were not so simple.

And indeed, it came as no surprise when Yelina spoke once more with her voice filled with knowing and irritation. "Is this really about them? Are you _really_ doing what's best for them?"

"Of course," he answered quickly, his tongue tripping over his words. "Of course, I am _trying_ to do what is… best for them." Her implication that he wasn't confused him more than anything else, though deep down, he _could_ feel a hurt-filled pang at the accusation.

Why else would he be doing any of this if he didn't want to do what was best for Ray and Kyle?

He never got to ask the question, because Yelina started talking once more. "I know you want to do the right thing for all of us. _But_ I also believe that you have _other_ reasons for suggesting that you keep Kyle away."

Horatio looked at her carefully. "Such as?"

Her dark curls bobbed a little as she moved her body in a way that looked like half a shrug and half a shake of the head. "You know how many times we've seen each other over the last two and a half years?"

Coming seemingly out of nowhere, the question was one he hadn't expected or understood. And he was glad that she just kept talking so he didn't have to ask for clarification. "Probably ten times. Or _less_."

"Well… you know I've been busy," he responded in a politely terse manner.

Yelina scoffed. "You don't have to offer an explanation, Horatio. Especially since it would be a lie, I'd rather not listen to an excuse."

Her words were harsh but not nearly as painful as the truth she was about to utter. "I know why you stay away. You think I don't, because I look at the same situation and do not share your conclusion. But I understand: you do not like the dynamic between us."

It was a polite, indirect way of broaching the subject that he would have preferred to leave untouched. But that didn't make him feel any better. Because she was trying to get him to admit that there was no point in fighting his desire for her; she might not have been directly saying it, but it was implied, and he had no intention of saying those words out loud.

He _couldn't_ do it.

Gently he explained simply, "Raymond was my brother."

"And my _husband_," she snapped back immediately. "And while he was alive, I did _everything_ I could to be loyal to him."

Horatio hadn't meant to imply that she had no loyalty to Ray. But her defensiveness suggested to the redhead that he must have done precisely that to upset her. "I married him, had his _child_," she said with emphasis. "I told him _not_ to go undercover, yes? But I let him do it." There was a hint of anger in her voice – not necessarily at _him_ but at what had happened in the past. So it was no surprise that she continued speaking with disdain, "I _supported_ him. I said _nothing_ when he became addicted, and when he did admit to having a problem, I tried to _help_ him."

She paused to swallow hard. "And when he died, when he _pretended_ to die, I held my son every night and _lied_ about what an honorable man his father had been."

Not for the first time, Horatio realized that she could list thousands of more selfless acts she'd done in the name of loving Raymond. There wasn't enough time in the world to name every kind thing she'd done for Horatio's brother in the name of love. And the fact was Horatio _really_ didn't want to hear even a short list of such things; that would just make him feel like he'd failed his entire family more than he already did.

So he quickly admitted, "I know."

But that didn't stop her.

"He had a child with _someone else_? I supported her. He turned up alive and wanting a family with me? I _did_ what he wanted." She shrugged in defeat, a sharp contrast to the bitterness in her words. "And he killed himself anyway."

Instinctively Horatio understood what she meant. Ray might not have killed himself with a gun or a razor blade or a noose. He might not have even _wanted_ to die when he passed. Yet there was no denying that, through his own selfish actions, Raymond _had_ killed himself.

Yelina's steely gaze and exhausted voice pulled Horatio from his thoughts. "I am tired of being loyal to a man who has no concept of what that word means."

She fell into a brief silence, perhaps to let the words sink into his brain. But it wasn't for a long period of time, because he didn't have a chance to speak before she explained, "And I understand that you're not ready to accept that about him." A subdued smile on her lips, she said, "You want to believe that other people will be good if you are… you want to believe that, by looking at me as your brother's wife, my marriage to Ray will have some sort of meaning."

"It _does_ have meaning," he insisted.

But she was quick to shoot the sentiment down. "It doesn't. He never believed it did, and outside of Ray Junior, I don't believe that anymore either."

Horatio wanted to disagree with her, but she wasn't having any of it. "You still think it does; I respect that. But do not for a second believe that Kyle shares your need to avoid his family because of the uncomfortable emotions it stirs within _you_."

He eyed her carefully. _Very_ carefully for a moment as though she could continue to show insight into who he was, as though the very things she was saying could harm him. He didn't trust himself to speak at that moment, her words aggravating something inside of him. Frustration and anger building within him, Horatio knew he needed time to calm down, to mentally step back from the situation.

That was hard to do, of course, and all the while, he reminded himself that this was the problem he had with Yelina. For all of her ability to understand him, sometimes she failed to see how her words and actions affected him. Sometimes she would be so intent on demonstrating her intimate knowledge of him that she neglected to understand how _awful_ it felt to be laid so bare for her to assess.

But then he supposed that that was his own fault. He worked so hard to maintain that cool façade she was used to that it was likely that she had no _idea_ how her words affected him.

Because he never showed her.

He wasn't going to.

That was revealing more than he ever wanted to.

So he simply allowed for just the slightest hit of agitation to filter through his exterior as he asked, "You think I'm interested in keeping Kyle… all to myself for… personal reasons?"

She didn't nod or shake her head. Actually, she offered no physical tell of any sort and instead vaguely explained, "I believe that you are so afraid of spending any time with your family that you are not fully seeing how your son would benefit from such exposure."

Her cool tone was matched by his. "Ray Junior _assaulted_ Kyle… and you. So… you… are _right_ about that. I don't see it."

"Then imagine for a moment that you were your son," she ordered none too gently. "You haven't had a family in years, and you only get one after breaking the law and being arrested. You get a family by _accident_," she emphasized. "You're thrown into this… _insane_ and, if I may say so, bizarre dynamic that you have no understanding of. And the first thing that happens is your cousin punches you in the face."

Peevishly Horatio replied, not really seeing a point in the recap, "I think a few other things happened before –"

"My _point_," she interrupted with a glower, "is that all he knows right now is that we never anticipated his existence and Ray Junior resents it."

"All the more reason to keep them apart," Horatio said resolutely.

Her eyes narrowed on him as though she were trying to decide if he were being this dense on purpose. But she never asked that question, and he guessed that she still felt, no matter his intentions, that she could convince him. Because immediately following her silent assessment were the words – "No. This is all the more reason to show him that his family won't abandon him."

Horatio understood what she was trying to say; Kyle had had so much transience in his life that he needed to know that this situation wasn't more of the same. _But_, as Horatio pointed out to Yelina, "I can do that. I…_ will_ do that. But to try and show him that while Ray is… breathing down his neck and… _hoping_ things will end badly?" He shook his head once. "That… _that_ will not work."

Yet she remained as untaken with his proposal as he was with hers. Her voice terse, she reminded him, "There's more to this family than you. There's –"

"I realize that," he interrupted in an admittedly patronizing manner. Condescending wasn't exactly what he'd been going for, he conceded, but at the moment he was hardly bothered by it. "And when Kyle's ready, I'll let him spend time with Eric –"

"Eric." She scoffed at the name.

And Horatio was quick to point out the obvious, "He's my family too."

She looked almost disgusted at the thought but said nothing. Which he was grateful for; the last thing he wanted to do was discuss the legitimacy of his marriage to Marisol. Because as much as he _knew_ he'd done the right thing, he wasn't sure he was ready to hear Yelina condemn him for it.

So he glossed over the moment by trying to appease her with "_And_ if you'd let me finish, I would have said… _your_ name right after that."

"Fine," she replied swiftly, which made him feel like things were anything but fine between them. But he didn't even have time to challenge her before she added, "You're Kyle's father, and I obviously cannot change your mind, so fine. Do what you think is best."

He hadn't expected _that_.

Her sudden capitulation was something he hadn't even thought possible… at least not so early into the conversation. And the fact that she was so easily cajoled on the matter made him wonder what was going on; something was _obviously_ not right.

But he wasn't going to press her on the matter. That much was clear to him. Because although he was curious about her motivation, Horatio suspected that asking such a question would only reignite her passion.

And he didn't want _that_.

So he got off the bed and told her calmly, "I will. And in the meantime, you, young lady," he ordered with a smile, "should keep some ice on that eye."

"Right." Her voice was polite, but her eyes looked like she had a strong desire to rip his face off.

Still he ignored it. "Thank you for helping Kyle today. You didn't have to do that."

He thought the conversation was over then. Everything he'd wanted to say had been said. And he turned to leave, only to be stopped by Yelina's cool voice. "It's no problem. We're _family_."

But when that was precisely the issue, Horatio couldn't take comfort in her words.

With a sigh, he left the room, all the while wondering:

Would it _ever_ get any easier?

_End (65/??)_


	66. Chapter 65: The Short Stick

Author's Notes: Thanks to ritagarcia45 for being so kind as to leave a review. I really appreciate it. Also thanks to my beta for all of her help.

_Disclaimer: I don't own it._

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Sixty-Five: The Short Stick**_  
By Duckie Nicks_

"_The universe seems neither benign nor hostile, merely indifferent." – Carl Sagan_

The longer Ray and he stayed in the living room in silence, the more convinced Kyle was that something dirty was going on in the bedroom. He didn't exactly _want_ to consider Horatio and Yelina sleeping together, but all signs pointed to "We have sex together."

Ray didn't want to believe it obviously. He was a moron, too emotional to accept what was right in front of his face. But Kyle, not really attached to anyone in the situation, couldn't deny what he saw. And as Horatio came out of the bedroom, Kyle told himself that if there weren't any sexin' going on between those two now, at some point, there _would_ be.

That was just how these things worked.

Having slept with his foster family's daughter, after all, Kyle thought he should know.

But maybe he didn't, he thought, as Horatio walked coolly down the hallway with his jaw clenched together tightly. His tense demeanor coupled with Yelina's infuriated gaze watching him intently didn't exactly paint a happy portrait of two adults seemingly desperate to be with each other.

If those things did, Horatio wouldn't have practically barked at Ray, "Did you apologize?" Ray nodded his head, but apparently it wasn't enough of a signal for Horatio. Kyle figured that this made sense as the man who was his father didn't seem capable of subtlety. Turning to look at Kyle, Horatio asked, "Did he?"

"Yeah." There was no emotion in the word, no hint that an apology meant less than nothing to him, which was just as he wanted.

The way Kyle saw it, everyone had moments in their lives where they did something they didn't intend to do, committed unspeakable acts out of anger, lust, or whatever to achieve a short-sighted goal. _Everyone_ did it, and the reason why never _really_ mattered to the people hurt or affected by your impulsive behavior. If you did something bad, it said something about you.

Period.

Apologizing didn't change that any more than shutting Pandora's Box after it had been opened worked. Trying to fix or undermine your mistake didn't negate the fact that there had been a mistake to begin with.

And maybe that was harsh, but nobody had ever treated him any differently, so why should Ray be the exception?

Of course, Kyle kept all of this to himself.

He recognized that saying any of it aloud would lead to trouble; Yelina would probably pity him for it (her pity for him seemed to know no bounds), and that would enrage Ray Junior. And Kyle didn't really care about that little shit, but Kyle _did_ care about how his… _father_ might react.

It wasn't about getting approval or love or the fear of continuing to get neither. It was just that Kyle understood that even hoping to get something from Horatio in this situation was nothing short of foolish. Because Horatio was without a doubt an unyielding force.

Kyle didn't know much about the man, but he knew _that_ much was true.

Horatio was… kind, sure, but in a sort of way that was cold and uninviting. He might have been a cop; he might have been willing to take his bastard son in, but Kyle knew that there was no warmth behind any of it. It was duty, not _love_ that motivated Horatio, and because of that, Kyle knew that any bid for sympathy would fail.

So he said nothing about his feelings for Ray or anything else for that matter when Horatio said, "All right. Then… I guess… we'll go."

Yelina apparently took that as an opportunity to step forward and speak up, her anger temporarily giving way to thinly veiled concern for Kyle. "Right. Well, you'll need to grab your medicine, Kyle," she reminded in what he could describe as a maternal manner.

At least he _thought_ it was something a mother would say. Since it had been so long since he'd had one, he didn't really know anymore.

Not that he asked for clarification, of course.

Instead, he noticed the way Ray seemed to scoff at his mother's concern. As though he couldn't believe the display of emotion, Ray looked at his mother with disdain. But that didn't last very long, because, catching his disgust, Yelina shot a harsh glare in his direction. And that shut Ray up pretty damn quick. Which only confirmed in Kyle's mind that this _cousin_ of his really had no idea what thug life or whatever you wanted to call it was about.

The kid might have wanted to look tough, but at the end of the day, he still obeyed _Mommy_. Angered by this entire situation suddenly, Kyle wanted nothing more than to taunt the fucker right then and there over this piece of information.

But he didn't.

Rage might have been boiling inside of him, but he was smart enough to know that there was a time and a place for everything. And in this case, if he were to explode now, the adults would pull them apart before anything ever happened.

Kyle didn't care about upsetting them obviously. But he _was_ opposed to looking like a fool; he _was_ opposed to being interrupted in his desire to smack his cousin around, so he simply decided to wait. He could do that, of course; they went to the same school, and there would be eventually an opportunity should Kyle continue to feel the need to take it.

So he would wait.

But in a way, he wished he hadn't as soon as he got into Horatio's Hummer. The smell of new car and some unknown chemical that his… _dad_ used on a daily basis assaulted Kyle's senses; it heightened that deep-seated feeling that everything about his relationship with his father was nothing more than a clinical, _cold_ one. And feeling just as trapped as Ray must have, Kyle felt with renewed desire the urge to scream at the other teenager.

It was impossible to explain why all of his anger was directing itself to Ray. There was no rational explanation behind it, no conscious motivation on his part to allow that to happen. Especially since, if he thought about it for a few seconds, Kyle realized that he had more in common with Ray than anyone else in this family. Kyle couldn't be sure of this, of course, but it definitely seemed like the children in this part of the family tree paid for the mistakes the adults made on a regular basis – if all the animosity was any indication. And so it really seemed insane to want to fight with Ray.

But he did, and there was no stopping it. The numb need to lash out was burgeoning inside of him, a beast awakening, stretching, and growling for blood, and there was nothing he could do to end it.

Horatio was naturally unaware of this. He asked, "Are you all right?" But Kyle knew that he was referring to Kyle's nose and nothing else, and nodding his head, he told himself that he should be appreciative of this slight concern aimed for him. After years of having _no one_ and nothing but an uncaring system care for him, he wanted to feel like this was an improvement.

It _was_ an improvement.

Yet in his heart, he knew he didn't see it that way. This did not _feel_ better or even all that different. The man who was his father didn't care any more than his social workers did or had. Horatio _wanted_ to care, felt _obligated_ to love. But at the end of the day, he clearly must have felt burdened by Kyle's presence.

Who wouldn't though?

People were surprised by the existence of children all the time, yeah, but that usually happened when the kids were still the size of rice grains. Their offspring buried deep in some chick's uterus, the idea of parenthood was one they could ignore for a short while. It was something they could get used to over time.

There was no easing into parenting a sixteen year old.

Horatio might or might not have thought about having kids over the years, but surely, if he had, he'd only thought about that life-changing event happening in one way. A timeline etched in the redhead's mind in black and white, it went adopt/have a baby and then watch said child grow; it did _not_ start with a sixteen year old kid.

It did _not_ start with a sixteen year old kid who you'd just arrested, who had just attacked you and whom you'd attacked back.

Yes, if Horatio had thought about having children at all, and Kyle sort of doubted that he had, he'd always envisioned a fairy tale ending. Because no one, not even someone as immune and exposed to the atrocities of the word as Horatio was, ever gave themselves the nightmare scenario that this current situation was.

Even Kyle himself had never imagined something like this happening.

Resting his head against the passenger side window, he carefully sifted through the broken memories of his childhood. It was always in this manner that he reflected on his sixteen years of life; unlike some people who could traipse about through their minds as though the past were some open field covered in cornflowers and the smell of fresh daisies and grass, he could not. If he had a field of memory at all (and in his mind, it was more a thorny forest than open area anyway), it was one that required him to tiptoe through the tulips, landmines everywhere threatening to rip him apart.

But he was good at that tightrope walk. Seriously, if there were one thing he was capable of, it was this; it was knowing _exactly _where those mines were and being able to avoid them.

Granted, it was harder to do all of that with Horatio sitting next to him in the car. His father's presence making itself known every so often with a concerned glance his way, Kyle couldn't help but be a little distracted. Maybe that didn't make much sense; it probably didn't, but part of him really did worry that Horatio could tell, just by looking at him, what was going through his mind.

Yeah, okay, it _was_ insane. Especially since Horatio's default position was clueless, chances were there was no way he'd ever figure out what Kyle was thinking about. But the idea that Horatio _might_ deduce what was going on was enough to distract Kyle nevertheless. Bothered him to the point where he had to close his eyes to focus on the matter at hand.

And when he was safe behind the thin veil of his eyelids, his vision surrounded by the inky orange of sunlight filtrating through his skin, he tried to remember how he'd envisioned his father being.

It wasn't an easy task by any means. Most of his life, he'd never actually _wanted_ a father, much less dreamed that the man who held the title would pop up one day. In fact, searching his memories for some trace of desire for a fatherly bond, Kyle didn't find any such thing after he'd turned six.

Not after his mother had died, anyway.

Swallowing hard, he immediately forced the thought out of his mind and focused on the part of his life that had happened before her death. Back then, he'd been naïve and desperate enough to want a father, a _real_ father. Back then, there'd been enough childish delusion, thanks to Disney and his mother's blind eye towards her husband, to let Kyle believe that things could be better with his father in his life.

He'd imagined a man with the same blond hair that he had. He'd imagined a man who would come into their lives and scoop Kyle and his mother into big brawny arms and take them away from their little slice of Hell _forever_. He'd dreamed of love, of Old Spice aftershave, and acceptance. He'd pictured a man who would fill in all of the gaps in Kyle's life, a man who would smooth out all of those rough edges until everything was perfect.

He had _not_ pictured what he currently had with Horatio.

And then, Kyle thought, getting himself back on track, his world had been violently altered, and he'd never cared about having a dad again. All he'd ever wanted was his mother back, and when that couldn't happen, all Kyle had wanted was to be left alone.

His first foster home had been painfully good at that second part. His social worker had made a big deal about the fact that, at the time, he'd refused to speak. But what she'd failed to see was that those people hadn't cared about him either. And in the end, he'd appreciated that more than he would have ever appreciated someone trying to make him feel better. Somehow that would have felt like making _light _of the situation; because if he could have felt _better_, then that would have meant that his mother's death hadn't been _that_ horrible.

And God only knew it _had_ been.

It _was_.

So if he'd allowed himself the luxury of thinking about family _after_ that life-altering event, it sure as hell hadn't involved his biological father.

And Kyle knew that that wasn't him retroactively punishing Horatio.

It had nothing to do with Horatio.

It was just that, if Kyle had ever allowed himself to dwell on something most people took for granted, he would have focused on the one tangible aspect of family that he'd had.

His mother.

These days he didn't remember much about her. It had been so long since she'd been alive that part of him almost wondered if she'd ever existed. Had there ever been anyone to tuck him at night? Had her soft hands, the wrists dabbed with jasmine-scented perfume, rubbing circles in his back ever been real?

Sometimes those events seemed too tender and special to belong to him. Sometimes it felt like accepting those memories as real would cleave his heart in half from the pain of losing someone so important, so _kind_. But for the most part, he knew that she had been real, as real as the uncomfortable vibe with Horatio was.

And occasionally Kyle allowed himself to wonder if all of this was his fault. He hadn't considered that theory in a while, instead preferring to place the blame on everyone else around him (it was easier to think that the world was full of assholes). But now that he also had to deal with Horatio, Kyle could only think that he was paying for some sort of crime.

True, he'd broken the law many times over the last couple of years. However, that wasn't what he was thinking about; the crime he committed must have been one he'd been guilty of as a very young kid… maybe one he'd done before he'd even been born, one he'd committed in another life time.

Maybe it was stupid to think that. Okay, it _was_ stupid to think that. But somehow it was more comforting to think that he'd earned every bad thing that had happened to him than to be a hapless victim in all of it.

Opening his eyes once more, Kyle glanced down at his hands, half expecting to see blood smeared across his palms. That there wasn't left him feeling… disappointed – slightly. He would have preferred to be the reason he had no mother and a father who was disconnected from the situation (at best). He would have taken some solace in that.

It would have been better for him if that were true.

But as his entire life had proven thus far:

What was best for him was rarely what he received.

_End (66/??)_


	67. Chapter 66: The best laid plans

Author's Notes: Thanks to Roots4Miami and Josu for reading and reviewing. I really appreciate the encouragement. Thank you so much. Also thanks to my beta for all of her help.

_Disclaimer: It's not my show._

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Sixty-Six: The best laid plans…**_  
By Duckie Nicks_

"_We must be silent before we can listen. We must listen before we can learn. __We must learn before we can prepare. We must prepare before we can serve." – William Arthur Ward_

As his uncle left, Ray Junior couldn't help but feel dread coursing through his system. He didn't exactly want to be around his cousin, but Ray also wasn't thrilled about being alone with his _mother_. Indeed, if he had to fill in his Livejournal mood box right now, "scared shitless" would be the adjective he'd chosen.

And it struck him as odd that he'd never _truly_ been afraid of his mother before now. She'd always been a formidable being – not just with him but also in life. The joke had always been that his mother was a cop and blah, blah, blah (his friends liked to rip him over it, but he'd never particularly found it funny or interesting), but it _was_ true. His mother was more than capable of commanding a room _and_ her family.

Throughout his life, he'd felt on occasion that she were little more than a giant rain cloud waiting to piss on his day. His mother loved him, and he couldn't deny that, but sometimes, he truly believed that she wanted to ruin his life.

And yet… in spite of all of that, Ray had _never_, in all of his years, been _afraid_ of her.

Then again, he'd also never hit her before.

He'd never given her a _real_ reason to unleash all of her anger on him, because he'd never unleashed all of _his_ anger on _her_. In his mind, there'd been a silent pact to protect one another, to never cross that line with each other. But now he feared that his actions today were all the motive she needed to end the ceasefire.

His gaze trained on the front door, he realized that he hadn't looked back at her since Horatio left only moments ago. Yet there was no doubt in Ray's mind that she was still behind him; he could feel the heat of her own gaze practically burning a hole in his back. And though he knew it was just in his mind, his skin ached as though her anger had literally singed him.

The feeling so pervasive, Ray had no desire – absolutely _none_ – to turn around and face his mother head on. Really, if he thought he could get away with it, he would have sprinted out the door right then and there (but today was apparently fuck-Ray-over day, so he _wouldn't_ get away with it, obviously). Knowing that he wouldn't even make it out of the house before she stopped him, Ray sighed.

There was no avoiding this moment any longer. And that depressing thought in mind, he turned around to look at his mother.

She was pissed.

No.

_No, _on second thought, she wasn't _pissed_. That word hardly encompassed the fury wafting off of her as intensely as the smell emanated from bacon. In fact, Ray was pretty sure that there wasn't a word in the English language to describe how furious she looked. Nor was there, much to his disappointment, an appropriate word in Spanish or Portuguese to describe the look she was giving him.

Language failing him, he felt lost, _helpless_ to defend himself against the accusations she had yet to speak. But he supposed he had to try on the off chance that an apology, no matter how terribly uttered, would cool her off.

He opened his mouth slowly, his words raspy and his throat dry. "I'm sorry."

It obviously had no effect on her.

"I don't care," she responded coolly. "And I certainly do _not_ believe you," she added, her arms folded across her chest.

"Well, it's the _truth_." The words sounded whiny, even to his own ears, and Ray knew that she wouldn't take kindly to that, as she'd never been moved by complaining.

"Again. I don't believe you."

Ray had no doubt in his mind that she meant what she was saying. Sometimes, she would say shit like this to make him feel even guiltier than he already did, but this was not like that at all.

And that left him for a loss, because he'd never been in this situation before. He'd never had to _convince_ his mother that he felt bad about the crap he'd pulled, because she'd always given him the benefit of the doubt on that part. But now she wasn't, and he really didn't know what to do or say to make her feel differently.

Instinctively Ray opened his mouth to apologize once more, figuring that it couldn't hurt; yet, his mother interrupted before he'd even had a chance to utter a single word. "Do _not_ try to convince me that you're sorry, Raymond. Do _not_ ask for my forgiveness, because I can assure you, _child_, you will not get it."

Spurned, he was tempted to ask her what the fuck she _did_ want from him. That he _didn't_ was nothing short of a miracle, he thought honestly; it would have been stupid to talk like that in front of her, but since when had that ever stopped him before?

He didn't get a chance to answer the question before his mother spoke once more. "What today has taught me, more than anything, is that I have _clearly_ not done my job as your mother. I have been too lenient with you. Too permissive," she said with a nod of the head.

Ray didn't agree naturally. _Of course_, he wouldn't agree with her assessment. Parents always thought that they could be stricter, even if they were already the strictest parents on the planet. That was just how it was, because the way they saw the world was simple: any screw up their child made was rooted somehow in a screw up on their part as parents.

His mother was no different.

She'd never been… _insanely _strict (although Ray Junior thought that just the "insane" part of that description fit pretty aptly), but she'd always seemed to be under the delusion that she had to make up for something, for her shortcomings or something like that. And Ray thought at that moment that maybe she really was, given her taste in men. But for the most part, he thought that she had been a good mother… maybe even a great one; no matter how much he despised her at times, he knew that he would have never wanted anyone different. Fuck, anyone else would have _killed_ him by now, and the fact that his mother had lasted this long before throwing in the towel was a testament to how stubborn she was.

But then the fact still remained that she seemed to be giving up right _now_.

And he _did_ hate her for that.

Practically snarling, he asked, "You just realize that your _baby boy_ is all screwed up?"

She rolled her eyes at his theatrics, perhaps seeing through the pretty transparent attempt at getting her support. "Don't do that," she ordered coolly. "I'm not going to stand here and make _you_ feel better when it is _I_ who has been the one made to suffer today at _your_ hands."

"Well, I _tried_ to apologize, but you won't –"

"I _hope_ you're sorry," she told him, her voice cutting him off quickly. "But after today, I no longer take the existence of your conscience for granted."

The comment burned.

It physically pained him to know that his mother didn't believe in him enough anymore to believe that he had a conscience. Then again, it also hurt to know that he'd been the one to give her all the doubt in the world, thanks to what he'd done today.

But he didn't say that.

His mother was too pissed to believe anything he might say, and because of that, he didn't want to say _anything_. Honestly, at this point, he wasn't sure he could handle exposing his own pain only to have her reject him and call him a liar.

So he settled for turning defensive on her; there was nothing to lose by taking this approach, though admittedly it didn't seem like he would gain anything either. But he felt the need to respond, to fight her accusations, and though the words he used weren't the ones he wanted, it at least allowed him to feel as though he weren't just standing there, accepting her assessment of him. "You think I'm a _psychopath_ or something like that?"

"I don't know what to believe when it comes to you anymore," she admitted angrily. "I _hope_ that there is still some semblance of a good person inside of you. But on the off chance that you are truly as_ selfish_ and _silly_ as you have acted today, I will treat you as such." Nodding her head, she added firmly, "Until you _prove_ to me that you can behave differently, you will be given the same amount of respect you have for everyone else."

He didn't like the sound of that.

So really, he had to ask, "And what the hell does that mean?"

"It means you are to go to school and come home right after. _Alone_, Raymond. I don't want any of your _friends_ in my house." Disgust flitted across her face, proving that she'd hated his friends for a really long time.

Well, that was nothing new, really, more of a confirmation than anything else. But he didn't like that fact anyway. It just felt like she'd been looking for a way to cut Todd and the rest of Ray's friends out of his life.

And he was about to say that, but she kept going. "It means there will be no television, no Ipod, no cell phone, and _no_ computer – unless you need to do work for school."

All of those things he was sort of prepared for. Being grounded was something he was well versed in, and when that happened, living in the modern world was the first thing to go. _Always_.

But this time that part of his punishment hurt more than usual, because this time he had that videogame competition with Todd creeping up on him. He _needed_ his computer in order to keep working on that, but his mother, clueless about the competition's very existence, would hardly allow him to work on the computer for _that_. She would hear the word "videogame" and forget about everything else.

Intuitively, he asked, "For how long?" But the fact of the matter was that he needed every spare hour he _had_ to fix the glitches of the game he was working on with Todd; any punishment for more than like ten minutes would fuck everything up, and Ray really doubted his mom would be appeased that easily.

"As long as it takes," she answered vaguely, blindly dashing all hopes he had of winning this competition and earning her trust back.

Cause this was the way Ray saw it: anything less than working as hard as humanly possible would mean losing the contest, would mean giving up his future. He'd never entered the competition before, but from what Todd had said, this was some real serious shit here; people traveled from all over the country to show off their graphic design abilities, and the company sponsoring the competition would consider producing the winning game. And since this what Ray wanted to do with his life, he couldn't pass up such an awesome opportunity.

But at the same time, he also really loved his mom, and he would want to try and prove her wrong about her depressing assessment of him. He would _want_ to gain her trust back. And so he would at least _try_ to follow her rules.

He would _try_, but he would be unable to… and the sum of those actions would mean failure on all counts.

His future incredibly bleak, Ray sighed. His mother, taking the sigh for a scoff, upped the ante by threatening him, "And if you don't get your act together – and quickly – I will be forced to accept that _I _am part of the problem, and you can go live with your grandmother."

Ray was stunned into silence. Words failing him, he could only watch his mother saunter away with the knowledge that she bested him implanted firmly in both of their minds.

He did _not_ want to go live with his grandmother. His grandmother was fucking _nuts_ in a way that his mother wasn't. And if he had to live with _that_ old hag, he would lose his mind.

But looking at what he would have to give up to stay with his mother, Ray knew…

He should just pack his bags now.

* * *

The car ride home was filled with awkward silence. Horatio didn't know why he should have expected any differently, but it was clear that he had; that palpable feeling of disappointment mixed with rejection was proof that he'd anticipated something else happening on the drive home.

Admittedly, that was… stupid.

Foolish.

Kyle still didn't trust him, and Horatio couldn't deny that today's display of family… _affection_ would have given the boy the wrong impression. Ray hitting Kyle, for that matter, had given Horatio _himself_ the "wrong impression" about family.

Well, at least things were never boring when it came to the Salas-Delko-Caine family. Normal amounts of heartache and trouble on their own, when combined, the three families took suffering to a whole new level, Horatio thought wryly.

Immediately, he resolved himself to getting more sleep. If he were thinking this darkly so soon in the day, he obviously needed to rest more.

In any event, it must have been that same lack of sleep that was making him focus more and more on what Yelina had told him what must have been only twenty minutes ago.

At the time, he hadn't exactly agreed that what Kyle needed was more time with family. But the longer they sat in silence, the more Horatio wondered if Yelina had been right about Kyle.

Maybe he really did need to spend more time with them. It was obvious that his son didn't feel comfortable around him; God only knew that Horatio himself didn't exactly feel at ease with the teenager.

And that clearly had to change if Kyle were to stay on the straight and narrow.

It was in Horatio's experience that the juvenile offenders who went on to re-offend were the ones who had no network to protect and nurture them. There was no reason to suspect that Kyle would be any different. And right now, as much as Horatio wanted there to be, the boy really didn't have those provisions in place to protect him.

Yes, there was an _outline_ of that network. But to be completely honest, and Horatio thought this was too important to lie to himself about, what this part of the family tree lacked was _love_. He felt overly sentimental by saying that, but it was true. There were some basic aspects of what it meant to be a family in place, but there really hadn't been anything to earn Kyle's loyalty.

And _that_ had to change.

But the means of making that happen were unknown to Horatio – if probably not unavailable.

He had _no_ idea how to love his son, much less how to earn that love and respect back.

_None_.

His own father was hardly a role model in the area, and his mother…

Well, she had done the best she could with both of her children, but Horatio knew that she probably hadn't been the best mother she could be. Her inability to extract herself from the dangerous elements that ultimately led to her death was proof of that.

And he was determined _not_ to let the same fate fall upon Kyle.

Or Ray Junior for that matter.

But both teenagers seemed so willing to throw away their futures. Both seemed so _eager_ to destroy their family with silly fights and stupid mistakes that Horatio was no longer sure if saving either boy was actually an option.

Immediately, Horatio pushed that negative thought to the side. Realism and pessimism had their places in life, but when it came to fighting for his family, he knew that neither of those points of view would help him. Because if there was one thing he truly did believe, it was that, when it came to family, you couldn't give up.

You weren't allowed to.

And though both teens seemed determine to cross over to that point of no return, Horatio understood that it was his _duty_ to be a giant, pain-in-the-ass roadblock in the way of all of that.

How to do that though…

Horatio scowled behind his sunglasses, thankful for what little cover they gave him. Only Kyle was with him, but still… Horatio didn't want the boy to know that the person who was in charge of this entire relationship had no idea what to do.

He didn't want his son to see, much less have his son force him to admit, that he had no concept of what should happen next. That would have been too shameful for Horatio to survive, he thought.

But really, Horatio wondered why he should feel ashamed of that. It wasn't as though most families dealt with _half_ the crap these kids pulled. And it certainly wasn't as though any parenting handbook would have chapters that were relevant to _his_ needs. After all, it wasn't like the problem at hand was "my teenager is dating someone I disapprove of."

Although, Horatio thought with a cock of the head, thank _God_ Ray Junior hadn't started dating yet. The incident in third grade where Ray had bitten a girl for calling him ugly had left Horatio (and probably Yelina too) unenthused about the prospects of his nephew dating. And since Ray's behavior had steadily declined over the years, chances were that things would get infinitely worse when the boy _did_ start dating.

Which would happen any day now, Horatio realized suddenly. The boy was a teenager now, at that age where girls suddenly started being interesting again. And that meant that, if Horatio wanted to get this situation under some semblance of control, then he was already working on borrowed time.

But how?

Turning onto the highway that would eventually lead them home, Horatio felt overwhelmed by all that needed to change. Honestly, he could have spent hours – _days_ – just listing the most pressing matters, which was why he didn't waste time doing that.

But by not outlining the precise things that needed to be fixed, he felt helpless in changing any of it. As though the whole were a physical object covering his vision, when he looked at their problems as a singular entity, Horatio felt dizzy with confusion and ineptitude.

And that wasn't going to get anything accomplished.

So he immediately pushed Ray and his problems to the side.

Horatio didn't exactly _want_ to do that. His nephew seemed more in danger of being lost to him forever than Kyle was. But… Horatio also understood that Ray Junior had his mother and grandmother (and those two women were hardly oblivious to the boy's problems). They were his safety net.

Kyle, on the other hand, only had Horatio.

And that meant _he_ had to be the one to help his son. _He_ had to be the one to take the initiative.

And Ray Junior would probably resent him for it, but Horatio really didn't have a choice in the matter.

His son had one person.

_One_.

And Horatio was determined not to fail him (anymore than he already had).

Glancing over at Kyle, Horatio considered what would help him resist the life of crime he seemed so tempted to have. But looking at the boy, the sunlight reflecting brightly off of his blond curls, Horatio remained uninspired.

He hated that fact – _hated_ that looking at his son invoked _nothing_. No plans, no ideas, no warm pride about how this gangly creature was _his_ progeny – nothing.

Horatio looked at his son and felt _nothing_.

He knew it was his duty to finish raising Kyle, to help him. But beyond that… Horatio didn't feel much at all. And that filled him with such shame that he forced himself to look at the matter from a cop's point of view.

There was a safety in the familiarity of being Lieutenant Caine. There was nothing nice or familiar about being the father who felt nothing for his son except the vague notion that he _should_ feel something for his child.

And as it always had, the role of lieutenant saved Horatio.

Almost immediately, the conditions of Kyle's plea bargain popped into Horatio's head.

Or rather, the community service part of the agreement did.

The deal with Rebecca had stipulated community service be committed, though no specific location had been mentioned. Originally, Horatio had supposed that he would just let Kyle choose a place to do whatever the hell he wanted – feed the hungry, work at the Red Cross – it didn't matter.

But now Horatio was beginning to think that that had been shortsighted of him. After all, why let Kyle choose when Horatio knew of a program that would allow Kyle to see his family (without Ray Junior, obviously) _and_ the most horrible repercussions of breaking the law?

It was perfect.

As a father, Horatio wouldn't have been able to think of anything better, anyway.

But then again, he realized that he was getting ahead of himself here. The program he had in mind didn't usually allow teenagers to participate, and the woman in charge of selecting the participants was very choosey about who she wanted to work with.

Knowing he would need her permission, Horatio reached for his cell phone. As he dialed the number by heart, he recognized that the chances of her taking the call right now were slim; she was still at work (as he should have been), and once she started her job, she didn't stop until every organ had been examined. So it was no surprise that he got her voicemail.

Trying to keep the enthusiasm out of his voice, Horatio spoke deliberately, "Alexx. It's… Horatio. I have an… idea I'd like to run by you. Call me… please."

As he slapped his cell phone shut, Horatio glanced over at Kyle once more. The boy hadn't even turned his head in Horatio's direction, and though Horatio doubted that things would magically get better, he couldn't help but hope that this was a start.

_End (67/??)_


	68. Chapter 67: Temporary Fix

Author's Notes: Thank you to Josu and Roots4Miami for reading and reviewing. I definitely plan on having Horatio and Kyle bond; it's just not going to be a quick and easy path to that. It will happen though.

Also thank you to my beta, Olly, for all of her assistance and patience with this endeavor.

_Disclaimer: Not mine._

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Sixty-Seven: Temporary Fix**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_It isn't that they can't see the solution. It's that they can't see the problem." – G.K. Chesterton_

When he opened the door, he smirked. "I thought you said you weren't the kind of doctor who made house calls."

"Honey, I've been up to my ears in dead bodies today, and I could use a little bit of a break before I go home to my kids."

Looking at her, Horatio could tell Alexx was absolutely exhausted. The lines around her eyes seemed more pronounced than they usually were, and though she was clearly joking, there was something about the way she spoke that had her words falling short of their meaning.

"Well… you didn't have to drive all the way out here," he told her softly. "But I can't say that I'm not happy to see you…. Would you like to come in?"

She nodded her head, and he moved out of the doorway to allow her to come in. "I got your call," Alexx informed him dutifully as she crossed the threshold. "I assume this has nothing to do with the case."

"Would you like… some tea? Coffee?" To be honest, Horatio hardly felt like being hospitable after the day he'd had. But it was the _polite_ thing to do; he knew that much, and he also understood that, if he wanted her help in this matter, it couldn't hurt to be kind about it.

"I'd love to, but if I have any caffeine now, I'll be up all night with the cat. So I'm going to have to pass," she told him.

He nodded his head once in understanding but said nothing. It was easier to guide her into his study than to continue with the small talk they both seemed to have no interest in participating in. Maybe another time and place, sure, but Alexx was tired, and Horatio was frustrated, and all they both seemed to want at this point was to discuss what he'd called her over for and be done with it. So it came as no surprise that he'd barely shut the door before she prompted, "You had an idea you wanted to run by me."

"I did." He gestured for her to take a seat, but she shook her head, and he knew that he needed to get to the point quickly. "I don't know if… you're aware of this, but part of Kyle's release is… performing community service."

She shook her head again. "I work with the dead. I don't generally know what's going on with the live ones."

"Rebecca Nevins requires a thousand hours to be finished before he's paid his debt to society," Horatio explained in a slow, measured voice.

Alexx narrowed her gaze on him. "And this involves me somehow," she deduced, apparently able to connect the dots in her mind.

Horatio swallowed hard and said slowly, "You… have a program. There are… programs."

"Yes, there are," she admitted hesitantly. "But he's a child, and he's never been convicted of a felony or a D.U.I, and you know that's who those programs are geared toward."

There was no point in fighting on that issue, Horatio knew. At least at face value, Alexx was right; those programs were not for teenagers like Kyle. The individuals the county hired to work in the lab were those who had been convicted of non-violent crimes. Kyle had kidnapped someone, so he wasn't exactly an appropriate candidate on that end. Even though the victim was okay, Horatio knew that that didn't matter. Kidnapping another human being was bad – _evil_ – even if things turned out all right in the end.

And the fact that Kyle was a juvenile made it impossible to hire him anyway, Horatio added mentally, as the lab had a habit of only hiring adults.

Alexx's program to deter drinking and driving wasn't any more appropriate. The coroner's office allowed for offenders who had driven while intoxicated – which Kyle hadn't done – to observe autopsies where the deaths were usually thought to be related to drugs. But that obviously wasn't going to work in this situation, and frankly, the more Horatio thought about it, the more idiotic this whole idea sounded.

Sighing in defeat, he started to apologize. "You're right. You are… right." He couldn't help but repeat the words, the meaning behind what he was saying sinking in the more he said it. "I…"

He didn't know what to say then. Horatio liked to pride himself on being able to lead a conversation (or at least _interrogations_), but he'd dragged Alexx out to his house for nothing. And now it seemed like there was nothing he could say to undo his gaffe.

So it was perhaps lucky for him that she was the one to speak up. "Why don't you have him volunteer with the Red Cross? Or he could work at the Humane Society? I've been taking Bryan down there every weekend for years, so he can walk some of the animals. He loves it."

Horatio nodded his head once to show that he understood what she was saying. But he had no intention of taking her advice… unless he had to. Because getting the community service completed was only part of the reason he wanted Kyle to work at the lab.

And quite frankly, it was the least important motivating factor for Horatio.

Oh, satisfying the requirements of Rebecca's plea bargain was important. But it couldn't compete with the other benefits of having Kyle work in the lab, which were, in Horatio's mind, being able to spend time with his son and show his son what he did every day of his life.

_That_ was what he'd hoped to gain from this experience: an opening, a… _something_ to share with Kyle, he thought to himself in exasperation.

Yet here Alexx was, only offering him solutions that were less than ideal, and… it just seemed like more of the same. It just seemed like, no matter how hard Horatio tried, the universe kept throwing him curveballs and lemons and the like.

It just seemed like winning this – however one could possibly win suddenly having a teenaged child – was an impossible feat. And if that were the case, he had to wonder:

What was the point?

He didn't get a chance to answer his own question (and he thought this was a good thing) before Alexx interrupted his train of thought. "But I assume there's something else going on or you would have thought of that yourself."

Again he nodded his head. "I _had_ considered those programs. Yes."

"But…" She looked at him carefully as though willing for her prompting to work.

"Well, I guess… I was hoping to… use Kyle's community service requirement to… show him what it is that we do."

Horatio was being intentionally vague, figuring that the less he said, the better. Certainly it had to be better than admitting to Alexx – or to _anyone_ for that matter – that he needed help relating to Kyle. Because that was the kind of thing that was supposed to come naturally; _parenthood_ was supposed to come naturally, he knew. And even though there were so many fathers out there who were willing time and time again to prove otherwise, Horatio also knew that he had never set himself up to be one of those men.

He had _always_ prided himself on being a family man, on being someone who could, would, and _did_ protect children. He'd created that image for himself and had worked every day of his life to maintain it, and though it seemed inevitable, he didn't want anyone to see the cracks in that façade.

Of course, that made it sound like everything he'd done for his family the last decade or two had been done under false pretenses. And the last thing he wanted was to sound as though he didn't _truly_ love his family, because he _did_; he just simply worked as hard as he could to show that to them and everyone else.

But all of that effort, he _knew_, would be for nothing if he had to say that he needed help with Kyle.

Doing that would change everything.

So Horatio understood that he _couldn't_ say anything.

Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) for him, Alexx was able to read between the lines. One of her eyebrows arched, she said incredulously, "You want to show him what we _do_."

"Correct." But that didn't sound even remotely convincing, he knew.

"Well, Horatio," she told him with a shrug. "From what I understand, Kyle has had _plenty_ of experience inside the police department." He opened his mouth to speak, but she was quick to continue. "You want to tell me what this is really about, or should I just guess?"

He cocked his head to the side as though he had no idea what she was talking about; in his mind, Horatio thought that denial was better than confiding in his colleague. "'What this is really about'? I don't… I don't understand."

At this, Alexx's raised eyebrow nearly disappeared into her hairline; clearly she didn't believe what he was saying. "I think you do," she said doubtfully. "But if you want to pretend that nothing else is going on, that's your business. Just try not to involve me next time."

He could tell rationally that there was no judgment in her voice. She could have absolutely sounded mean, but it was audible that her intentions weren't to be cruel. At most she was simply stating something that he probably should have considered more before calling her. And he couldn't resent her for that, even though part of him felt the need to.

But whether or not that understanding was infused with his tones when he spoke next, he wasn't exactly sure. "You're right. I will… leave you out of it."

Alexx rolled her eyes. "It's too late now," she replied dismissively. "I'm already involved. Best thing we can do now is try to find a way to get Kyle in the building if that's what you want."

To be perfectly frank, it was the last thing Horatio expected her to say. After hearing her shoot down his earlier ideas, he'd just assumed that there was no chance of getting Kyle to work in the lab. But the way she was talking now, Horatio couldn't help but think that maybe – just _maybe_ – she had her own ideas in mind.

However, before he could even speak, she elaborated. "I was – to be _completely_ honest – a little happy when you called me this afternoon. While you were making sure your son is okay –"

"I apologize for that," he interrupted in slow tones for reasons he didn't entirely understand. It just felt like an apology was necessary in this situation.

Alexx didn't agree though.

Her eyes narrowed on him as though she could barely believe the stupidity coming out of his mouth. "You don't have to apologize, Horatio," she told him in a stern voice. "You were doing what a father _should_ do in these circumstances."

He bowed his head, her words meaning more to him than he thought possible. Maybe it shouldn't have been so surprising, the well of emotion within him being forced to the surface by her words; after all, it had been implied so many times before now that he was a bad father.

Yelina had basically said as much.

And who could deny that hearing someone say otherwise was _nice_?

Horatio certainly couldn't.

"I appreciate that," he told her earnestly, stressing each syllable to demonstrate the truthfulness of his words.

"So like I was _saying_," Alexx continued with mild annoyance. "While you were taking care of your personal problems, I had an issue of _my own_: my assistant quit."

Not really understanding her point, he nodded his head. "Okay."

"I don't one hundred percent know why. All I've heard so far is that Tony's wife wants to move back to Kentucky."

"Right."

"I know you were looking at our volunteer programs for Kyle, but as I'm fixin' to hire someone anyway, I suppose I could give the job to him."

It was a generous offer.

_God_, it was the kind of thing that slapped you in the face with its kindness.

But Horatio knew it was also something that was out of the question.

"Alexx, as… kind as that is, being an M.E.'s assistant is… a _paid_ job."

She shrugged. "There are ways around that."

"And he's not of age. The job requires –"

"There are ways around that too," she reassured. "You know as well as I do that employment is up to the discretion of the _employer_. Unlike our volunteer programs, we have a lot more control over this. This isn't up to a judge," she reminded him. "This is up to the lieutenant – _you_ – and the medical examiner – _me_." She gestured between the both of them to prove her point. "If you want this, we make it happen."

Though there was nothing criminal about what they were doing, Horatio couldn't help but feel as though he were committing an act of conspiracy. They _were_, after all, talking about hiring someone vastly unqualified for a job for personal reasons.

But then again, being Alexx's assistant was hardly performing brain surgery, Horatio told himself. What Kyle didn't know he would quickly pick up, as everyone who had worked for Alexx did in their own fashion. He might not have been knowledgeable about procedure, but he would learn. Horatio was sure of that much.

Of course, he was equally sure that there were a few of their colleagues – namely _Stetler_ – who would be less than thrilled with this turn of events. Again, it would be mainly Stetler who had the issue, but Horatio knew that there would probably be a couple of others who wouldn't like this act of nepotism.

And Horatio knew that he should ask himself if keeping Kyle in his presence constantly was worth the respect of the other C.S.I.s.

But Horatio did _not_ ask himself that question.

He didn't need to.

He already knew the answer.

"Lets do it."

* * *

The plan was sprung on him without much fanfare at breakfast. Kyle was neck deep in a bowl of oatmeal that tasted like paste when Horatio chose to make his announcement (Kyle could tell that this was an _announcement_ and not something that happened off the cuff by the stiffness in Horatio's voice). "I've arranged for you… to do your community service hours at… the lab."

The words washing over Kyle as warmly as the cool oatmeal was, he glanced down at his spoon to avoid eye contact with the man who was his father.

Truth be told, Kyle had no idea how he was supposed to respond.

No, that wasn't right, he immediately corrected. He knew _exactly_ how he was _supposed_ to respond.

He was _supposed_ to be grateful.

He was _supposed_ to say something like "Gee, thanks, Dad" and act all happy at the idea of working side by side with his father.

But that wasn't at all what Kyle felt, and no matter how much the situation called for it, he just couldn't find it within himself to be enthusiastic.

How the hell was he supposed to be happy about something that could only end in disaster?

How could he be happy when he saw inevitable failure and the person _in charge_ did not? And what the fuck did that say about _Horatio_ when he thought this was the best idea ever?

Kyle didn't want to know the answers to those questions. Somehow it just seemed easier to suspect the problems with all of this than to confirm it.

But that didn't mean he didn't want _Horatio_ to start seeing the impending issues in all of this.

Looking up once more, Kyle trained his gaze on the man before him. "You want me to volunteer at the police department."

"At the _lab_," Horatio corrected. "At the coroner's office to be specific."

Well, wasn't that just _great_.

Most people would have thought it was fucking _morbid_ to have a kid working in a morgue. _Most_ people would have thought that it was even _more_ wrong to have a kid, who had lost his _mom_, working in a morgue.

Christ, _most_ people would have had the decency to deny Kyle that experience – no matter _how_ necessary those community service hours were.

But _Horatio_ was _not_ one of those people.

No, he was the one jackass who _would_ think this was a good idea.

Perhaps sensing his unease, Horatio spoke up then. "I know that… we haven't always gotten along."

Kyle wanted to respond with a classy "no shit" but didn't think that that would be a very good idea. It certainly wouldn't be the kind of response that would make Horatio explain what was going on; Kyle knew that much. So he simply stayed silent and waited to see what Horatio was going to say.

"_But_ I… I really think that we… can get benefit from… spending some extra time together," Horatio said vaguely in a plodding voice. "Things have been… _tense_ between us, and…" He swallowed hard before finishing the thought. "And _I_ believe that working together could… help us."

Every word was uttered as though Horatio himself didn't know for sure whether or not it was a convincing argument. And Kyle could only give him some credit for that; he would have really been worried if Horatio thought that that made perfect sense.

Because the fact of the matter was that working together as a way to bond did _not_ make sense.

Spending nearly every waking moment together wasn't going to breed friendship as much as it would foster resentment. Kyle didn't really know for _sure_ that that was what happened when you were with someone for an extended period of time; God only knew when anyone had taken an interest in him like this last. But if television and watching other couples had taught him anything, it was that people needed space.

And when it came to Horatio, the only thing Kyle wanted right now was _space_.

At least, he wanted space from Horatio the _cop_.

He wanted distance from the person who had arrested him, from the person who had looked at him as though he were nothing more than a vile criminal. He _didn't_ want to know Horatio at _all_, but Kyle also knew that, if he _had_ to deal with Horatio, it would be better for both of them to interact with one another in ways that had _nothing_ to do with the law.

But looking at Horatio now, Kyle could see that that wasn't what his father wanted.

Horatio was content to be the cop. If anything he was _comforted_ by that. And as much as Kyle wanted to hate him for that, he couldn't.

He simply knew all too well that you had to clutch hold of the things that made you happy. In this world where people wanted you to suffer, you had to defend what made you feel good.

And Kyle didn't know if it was because of that or some other reason that made him do it, but at that moment, he couldn't help but open his mouth and say, "Okay. I'll do it."

_End (68/??)_


	69. Chapter 68: Working nine to hell

Author's Notes: Once again, thanks to Roots4Miami and Josu for reviewing. I really appreciate the feedback, and I thank you so much for taking the time to do that. Also thank you to Olly for all of your assistance and patience.

_Disclaimer: If it were mine, I wouldn't be doing this._

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Sixty-Eight: Working nine to Hell**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_You will always be your child's favorite toy." – Vicki Lansky_

Yelina hurriedly sipped at the hot cup of coffee in her hands. Despite the fact that it was a Saturday morning, she needed to be at work in forty-five minutes. _And_ despite the fact that she'd barely been back to work for less than a month, she was_ already_ running behind schedule and _already_ in danger of being late.

Setting her mug in the sink with a loud thunk, she couldn't stifle her sigh of defeat; it escaped her body as it had every other time this morning when she thought about how this would reflect on her record.

Well, that wasn't exactly true, she admitted silently. Her eyes glancing around the room, she tried to locate the suit coat she'd haphazardly laid somewhere. And in the process, she amended her previous statement; it wasn't about how her superiors would view her lateness.

It was about Stetler.

Spotting her coat, which had somehow fallen onto the floor, she amended that statement as well. As she picked up her coat, she reminded herself of the fact that _technically_ Stetler was probably her superior as well. Although he didn't, on a day-to-day basis, have control over her, he could very well have her fired. And if she were late today….

He wouldn't _terminate _her.

She knew that much.

But since he'd taken the risk and hired her, he _absolutely_ would be watching over.

More so than usual.

He had always – _always_ – hovered over the police department like a vulture might do after spotting a dying animal. Like the bird it was in his nature. So much so that he couldn't help it; it was just a fact: Rick did not quickly trust anyone, especially those with power, and no matter how reliable a person seemed, he was never quite willing to accept their goodness.

Obviously that complete lack of trust had created… _issues_ in his relationship with Yelina, though she doubted he would see it that way. At the time, for as hard as she'd tried to make it work, he never seemed to believe her intentions, and she'd never understood why that should be the case. Not only had she never given him a reason to doubt her, she'd also believed that he had no need in general to be so cynical. After all, _she'd_ had reasons to lose faith in humanity while he'd never had his spouse betray him. Christ, with his wholesome upbringing and southern boy charm, he'd never had to want for anything in life – other than a reason to distrust everyone. And frankly, if she should wake up every morning and still be willing to trust people, she'd thought that he should too.

But he hadn't, didn't, _wouldn't_ feel that way.

And he certainly would channel all of that doubt toward her if he caught wind that his fresh hire was embarrassing him.

The fact that they'd kissed recently would only make all of that paranoia worse. She _knew_. He would hear about how she'd been late and begin to think that she'd been using him the entire time, that she'd been flaunting her ability to manipulate him – or something equally stupid.

And then he would get angry with her.

He would be livid.

And although the rational part of her knew she could handle him, although part of her didn't want to give into even the slightest bit of fear…

She was, in fact, afraid of what he might do or say.

But rather than let the terror sink in fully, she pushed the emotion away as best she could. It would do no good to let the feeling take control of her completely; she knew that much. If it were to seize her fully, she would be too distracted, too distraught in her anticipation of Stetler to leave her house any time soon.

And that made it easy to shove her fear to the side.

Not willing to let anything impede her chances of being on time, she returned to the task at hand. As she slipped on her suit jacket, she considered how many minutes she had to spare before lateness would be inevitable.

Five.

She thought that she might have five minutes before she _had_ to leave. And that sounded doable; she'd eaten, showered, dressed, collected her gun and badge and everything else she needed to take with her. In fact… she could probably leave _now_, she decided with a small, pleased smile on her face.

But the feeling didn't last.

The second she thought that she might be able to leave on time, the second she considered the _possibility_ that things could be okay, Ray Junior entered the kitchen and reminded her that things were anything _but_ fine.

He was exhausted, awake for reasons she didn't understand. His pajamas and hair were rumpled from slumber; lines on his face and arms were a testament to the fact that he'd just woken up in a tangle of bed linens he probably hadn't changed in a week. And though he was clearly just barely conscious, there was no missing the hate in his eyes.

Aimed at her, his disdain was something she had become well versed in since his fight with Kyle. Honestly, she'd had no other choice in the matter. Ever since she'd meted out Ray's punishment, he had been obnoxiously surly and childish.

He'd essentially refused to be in the same room with her – unless he _had_ to share the same oxygen. And even then, he'd made it well known that he resented her presence. His gaze had turned into a permanently angry glare, and he had gone from being a _loud_ teenager to one that refused to speak a single word to her.

Indeed, the second he saw her in the kitchen, he glared at her and wordlessly turned his attention to the refrigerator.

For a brief moment, she watched him in silence. Though the temptation to speak was there, it was one she ultimately resisted in favor of contemplation.

He was_ such_ a stubborn boy.

_So_ damn stubborn.

Even if she tried to get through to him now, she knew she wouldn't. He was too busy being a martyr to appreciate all she was trying to do for him. He was too wrapped up in moody teenaged angst to even begin considering that she _just_ wanted to help him become a responsible, caring adult. And at this point, even if he did consider her wishes, he would react to them with revulsion. He would – as he seemed to be doing now – lash out at her rules and needs out of simple resentment, out of the need to be _contrary._

And the truly ironic part about that was that he was – _would_ – make his own punishment worse by lashing out against it… which was exactly how she'd wanted it to be.

Intentionally, Yelina had _not_ set an end date for his grounding. The lack of a television, phone, computer – all of it – would last until he realized just how horrifying his actions had been.

But right now, he was wasting time placing the blame on her. He was telling himself that she was being unfair, cruel even. And the longer he refused to accept his guilt, the longer this would continue. The longer he moped around the house, the longer his misery would last.

It was, in her own estimation, a _great_ punishment for him.

He was _so_ stubborn, she thought once more, and it would be just the thing that made the repercussions of harming Kyle all the more potent. Were Ray Junior any more pliable, he would have accepted responsibility sooner, and he would have been free to do as he wished. Since he _was_ so bull-headed, he would be even more miserable than was necessary – and in that, she hoped he would learn his lesson.

But looking at him now, Yelina could only wonder how long that would take and how much further he would need to suffer before he understood.

As he slammed the refrigerator door shut and glared at her, she knew:

It would be a _long_ while before he came to accept what anyone else would have seen in a matter of moments.

And part of her wished she could show him the way. Seeing just how badly he would fail this test before passing, the mother inside of her wanted to go to him. That part of her wanted to show him in the same way she had taught him to tie his shoelaces and ride a bike. She _wanted_ to guide him as she had tried to for every day of his life.

But she knew she could not.

Even if she wanted to, he wouldn't listen. And even if he were willing to listen, at this particular moment, she didn't have the time; work was calling for her, and she couldn't put that part of her life on hold for her son. Were she to do that each and every time he screwed up, she would never get anything done.

And knowing that, Yelina was able to say at that moment, "I'm going to work. Your grandmother has promised me that she will come and make you breakfast later this morning. So if you plan on breaking my rules and wish to leave this house, you have about twenty minutes to do that."

Her voice was cool, and the challenge within her words would certainly not go unnoticed by her son. But then again, she hadn't intended it to.

If anything, she'd hoped that he would hear what she was saying and hear the ridiculousness of the idea within her words. She'd hoped that he would see the foolishness in sneaking out of the house.

Of course, she didn't doubt that it was his first instinct to do such things. Knowing her son as well as she did, she didn't even need to _consider_ the possibility of him obeying her orders; these days he didn't do anything to make her happy. But that didn't stop her from trying to show him the correct path in life. On the off chance that he would listen, she would try.

In this particular instance though, she was sure she hadn't succeeded.

And it was that thought – that assurance of defeat – that stuck with her throughout the morning.

By some miracle, she'd managed to get to work on time, thus avoiding admonishment from Stetler (for now anyway). But she still found it hard to concentrate on what she was doing.

At the moment, she was searching one of the databases for pseudonyms recently used in conjunction with recent thefts in the Coral Gables area. And though it was usually a task she could do in twenty minutes, today… it was taking longer.

Much longer.

She'd been sitting there for over an hour easily, blankly staring at the screen. There were literally hundreds of search results that she needed to wade through, but she'd probably only gone through four or five. And what was truly a remedial task had become something that seemed too complex to focus on.

To be honest, Yelina wasn't sure why that was the case. If it were simply Ray Junior, the threat of Stetler, or something else, she didn't really know.

Maybe it was the fact that everyone seemed to be staring at her that had her unable to concentrate.

And they _were_ looking at her.

Although, every time she glanced upwards, they averted their gazes, she could tell they'd been looking at her. As far as why, she had no idea; the police had never been contacted about her son's assault, so nobody would know about it. Unless Horatio told them, which she doubted he would do.

Maybe this was about her return to the police department to begin with?

Her fingers lightly rapped against the keyboard as she dismissed that idea. She hadn't been back at work long, no; however, she _had_ been back long enough for the initial shock to wear off.

And she supposed that logic applied to the news of Kyle's existence as well. By now, everyone in the station had _clearly_ heard about _that_. That bit of information might have taken two or three days to trickle down to the patrolies, but everyone surely knew about it by now. And although it was certainly a _shocking_ discovery to learn that the great Horatio Caine had a son, Yelina was equally certain that the shock had worn off.

So then why was everyone looking at her as though they were anticipating some sort of meltdown from her?

That was what they were doing too. The longer she sat there, watching them watching her, the clearer it was for her to see that they were looking at her in _anticipation_ of something. But what that something was… she had no idea.

And that made her sigh loudly, because what that meant was that _someone_ in her family had done something, was in the process of doing something, or was considering doing something.

There were no other options, no other way this could go.

People were looking at her as though she was about to lose her mind in sadness or anger or _something_, and that always – _always_ – without fail meant some relative was behind it. As far as _which_ relative it could be… she didn't know. The fact that it really could have been _any_ relative was depressing enough. So depressing that she felt the urge to scream right then and there.

And quite frankly, she probably would have if not for the welcome interruption Eric provided for her at that moment. His knuckles knocking against her desk, he said, "Hey."

She jumped a little in surprise at the intrusion. Swiveling her chair so she could face him, she responded, "Hi."

"You got anything for me yet?"

She hoped the feeling of shame did _not_ appear on her face, but she couldn't be sure. "There are more hits than I thought there would be."

"How many?"

"Couple hundred."

Eric considered this for a moment. "We need to narrow our searching criteria."

Yelina nodded her head in agreement. "Yes, but without any eye witnesses and the DNA still being processed, it's hard to do that." She wondered if she sounded put upon.

Truth be told, she _did_ feel that way. She felt as though the world had decided to rest all of its problems on her shoulders. But the fact of the matter was that _that_ feeling had _nothing_ to do with the case and everything to do with her mangled, decrepit mess of a family tree. And because _that_ was the problem, she really didn't want Eric to think this was about him.

But if he felt that way, he didn't let on. Instead he nodded his head. "Okay. Let me see what Valera's up to. Maybe I can get her to push our evidence to the top of the pile."

"Right."

"You keep going through the database. How long do you think it will be?" He sounded curious, but perhaps he thought he sounded too insistent, because he immediately added, "If we don't get anything off the clothing, it might be good for us to recanvas the neighborhood – especially if this is going to take a while."

Yelina shrugged. "I don't think it will take that long. I can probably get through the rest of it in another half hour." She smiled warmly. "As long as I don't get pulled off to –"

"Hold that thought," a voice spoke from behind them.

Over Eric's shoulder was Alexx walking towards them both, and Eric instinctively turned around to face her.

But Alexx ignored him, instead focusing her attention on Yelina. "I've got a little problem, and I need your help."

Yelina looked at her impassively. In the back of her mind, she wondered what assistance she could offer. Although Alexx was her colleague, the two definitely operated in different areas of law enforcement. And Yelina really wasn't suited (or dressed) for mucking around with dead bodies.

But Alexx wasn't giving her a choice. "Follow me, hon."

Dutifully Yelina stood up but made no move to walk. "What do you need me to –"

"It's about Kyle," Alexx interrupted.

And though the sentence was meant to explain, Yelina couldn't help but feel as though it had simply made her more confused. "What?"

Alexx rolled her eyes. "I would ask if Horatio told you Kyle was going to be working here. Given the look on your face though, I would say that that would be a pretty dumb question to ask."

Yelina blinked, the news slow to sink into her consciousness. "He's working –"

"He was. Until he went missing," Alexx said. "I tried calling Horatio, but I can't find him, so –"

"Lets go," Yelina insisted immediately. Turning to look at Eric for a moment, she told him, "I'll finish this when I get back."

His reaction was an expression that suggested he was fed up with these kinds of distractions. And frankly she couldn't blame him for that. If he were tired of the drama that surrounded Horatio, then she _definitely_ was too.

But as she followed Alexx down the hallway, Yelina could only think that Eric would eventually learn to be blasé about this fact of life as well. At the moment, he was too new to the way this family behaved to appreciate that this was just how things were.

She, however, was well versed in the theatrics that came with her family. And in this case, she had known that something wasn't right. She had anticipated that something was going on when everyone was looking at her.

She just hadn't considered Kyle being the culprit.

Maybe she should have though. He was part of the family now, and if that meant anything at all, it was that there was now another person for her to worry over.

Another person to carelessly discard her concern without any appreciation for it, she amended.

She sighed loudly but never considered that things might be different in the future.

She just wasn't that lucky.

_End (69/??)_


	70. Chapter 69: Kyle's Bad Day

Author's Notes: Thanks to Josu for the review. As far as where Horatio was, the next few chapters will clarify that for you. Thank you for sticking around thus far and for leaving some kind words. Also thanks to my beta for helping me with all of this. I really appreciate it.

_Disclaimer: Totally not mine._

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Sixty-Nine: Kyle's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_Of all the thirty-six alternatives, running away is best." – Chinese Proverb_

That morning Kyle woke up with unease filling his stomach as though he'd had a bowl of it for breakfast. The prospect of starting this job had hung over his head for days now, and it was undeniably getting the better of him. Horatio had been giving him tips the whole time, probably to make Kyle feel more comfortable and convinced that he could do the job.

But it was clearly having the opposite effect.

Kyle hadn't even spent two seconds on the job, but already it felt like there was so much to remember, so much riding on his ability to do the damn thing. And the fact that he was uncomfortable and didn't really want to be the coroner's assistant didn't absolve him of that responsibility. It hadn't been said, but he was definitely aware of that much.

Just as he knew that there was no way out of this.

He'd already said that he would take the job, and there was no going back on that. Because even if they could hire someone else, even if _they_ wouldn't care, the fact of the matter was that Kyle did. Not about disappointing anyone, of course, but he did care about the prospect of having to explain why he didn't want to do the job. And having to attempt to put into words his feelings was something he did _not_ want to do.

It wasn't a matter of trust.

Well, it wasn't _solely_ a matter of trust.

He didn't want to voice what he was feeling to Horatio, but it wasn't all about being reluctant to tell the man who was father something. Frankly, at this point, it was more of a survival move on Kyle's part. Because screw everything else – what it came down to was that working with dead bodies reminded him.

Of his mother.

And actually doing that sort of work was upsetting enough but then to have to actually acknowledge those feelings inside of him?

That would just make things seem even more unbearable.

Horatio would probably make him do the job anyway, so was there _really _any point to ripping the band-aid off the wound? In Kyle's estimation, the answer to that question was a resounding hell no.

And knowing that, he decided that the best way to proceed was to not think about it at all. Just concentrate on each individual act that he was going to be doing and not consider any of the personal implications, he told himself. Just do what has to be done, he thought.

For a while, that actually seemed possible. He showered, got dressed, drank a cup of coffee, ate breakfast with Horatio – all without thinking about anything in particular. There was the stray thought every now and then: would he see Yelina? would he see the lawyer woman who had put him in the position of doing community service to begin with? how badly had his douche cousin been punished?

Stuff like that flitted in and out of his head, but there was nothing dark about his thoughts, and that was the way Kyle wanted it.

But the way he would have liked things to be didn't last long.

The second he climbed up and into Horatio's Hummer (really, who needed a car _this_ big?), he could feel his anxiety grow. Maybe that was because he'd been trying to ignore it all morning. Maybe it was because he'd never been in a police station before as anything other than a suspect. Kyle didn't know – or _care_ in that instant, because all he could feel was his own nervousness.

And yet as they drove to the lab, when Horatio asked him how he felt, Kyle immediately shrugged and said, "Okay." The lie had come out almost automatically, and even if he'd wanted to tell the truth, the funny thing was… he probably wouldn't have been able to.

Although that might not have mattered, because Horatio didn't seem to believe him anyway. Blue eyes glancing over at him, Horatio asked, "Really? It wouldn't be… uncommon for you to be nervous."

Kyle didn't say anything right away. He wasn't sure how he should respond, or more specifically, he didn't know what to say or do in order to get his father off his back; Horatio might have been willing to comfort him, but it was the last thing Kyle wanted. And if there were a shibboleth that would allow him to convince Horatio that everything was okay, Kyle was sure as hell going to speak it.

Naturally, there was more to it than just saying the right words. He could say "I'm not nervous," but if he said it too defensively or too quickly, he wouldn't be believed. By the same token though, he couldn't be too slow in his execution; that would make him seem hesitant, and he couldn't wait too long to say something either for the same reason.

Bottom line: the perfect response, if there were one, wasn't going to be something he could haphazardly throw together. It would have to be a combination of the right words, the right timing, and the right amount of emoting, and anything less than that would just make Horatio more suspicious.

Thinking for a split second, Kyle decided that the best way to handle the situation would be to make light of it. Seriousness would only provoke Horatio into having a similarly dour response. And since that was really the _last_ thing Kyle wanted to deal with, he said dryly, "I've spent enough time in police stations to be comfortable in them."

"Well, son… that's kind of my point," Horatio told him quietly. "I don't want you… to feel as though… people are judging you. They won't, Kyle."

Of all the things he could have been worrying about, being judged hadn't been one that had crossed Kyle's mind.

Screwing something up that would fuck up other people's lives? Sure.

Being forced to drudge up painful memories? Absolutely.

What a _cop_ thought about him? _Hell no_.

Naturally, Horatio would be concerned of such things, because he had a vested interest in the opinions of his colleagues.

Kyle, on the other hand, didn't give a shit.

If a science nerd like Horatio or some Nazi cop didn't like him, it was no sweat off of Kyle's back. He just wanted to do a good job, to do the job well enough that he could finish his community service and avoid jail anyway.

He was _not_ doing any of this to make friends.

And hoping to make that reality a clear one, he shut the conversation down by wryly saying, "Thanks for the tip."

The remark was cold enough to keep Horatio quiet. Whether or not that was a good thing, Kyle couldn't decide. Because on the one hand, he didn't want to hear any more irrelevant platitudes, but on the other hand, he wasn't necessarily interested in finishing this drive in complete silence; he didn't want to talk to Horatio, but Kyle also had no interest in giving the demons in his head time to speak.

Unfortunately, Horatio had taken the hint and said no more. And having witness him do so, Kyle couldn't help but wonder if he'd just rejected one of the only lifelines Horatio had offered him.

It was a thought that refused to cease niggling.

Kyle suspected that that wasn't an awful thing, considering what he would have had to think about otherwise. But at the same time, it was hardly a happy thought either. Because… as uncomfortable as Kyle was with this whole situation, he wasn't ready to entirely reject it either.

Did he love his father? No. Did he want to? … not really. But could there at least be some sort of normalcy to come from this? Kyle hoped so, and he hated to have to consider that he might have ruined his chances at that.

However, he didn't get an opportunity to suss out just how badly he'd screwed up. By the time he contemplated the whole misstep, they were at the lab. And then Kyle's brain completely turned on him, shoving all thoughts of Horatio out of his mind as bad memories flooded his consciousness instead.

The second they stepped into the police station it happened: thoughts of his mother – well, the _fear_ of thoughts of his mother attacked him all at once. The feeling of dread smacking him in the face as though someone had actually punched him, it was impossible for Kyle to breathe for a couple moments.

If Horatio noticed this, he didn't say anything. He didn't try once more to tell Kyle that things would be okay. He didn't ask why Kyle had become so pale and breathless. He didn't do any of that. And whether that was intentional or not, conscious or not, Kyle didn't really consider.

He was too busy being abruptly pulled by his thoughts when a blonde woman – the chick everyone, Kyle had noted last time he was here, called Kathy? Calleigh? Kelly? – walked up to them. Her green eyes raked over both of their appearances, but ultimately, she ignored Kyle's presence and told Horatio, "Just got a call out to the Deering Estate. D.B. found by the dock of the bay."

Horatio nodded his head. "All right. Take –"

"They're requesting _you_. They're hoping you'll be discreet about the whole thing."

Kyle pretended not to care about what was going on, his gaze trained on the on goings to the left of him. But in reality, he was a little curious as to what Horatio was going to do.

The second his father spoke though, Kyle thought he should have known what was going to happen.

"Okay," Horatio told the woman in a slow voice. "Take Ryan with –"

"Can't," the blonde interrupted. "He's working one with Eric."

"Boa Vista?"

She considered this. "She's off today, but I can get her in here."

"Do that," Horatio said firmly. Referring to Kyle, he added, "I need to drop him off, and then I'll join you."

Blondie nodded her head and left, and Kyle was once more alone with his father and the thought that he should have known this would happen.

Really, he should have.

Horatio had said many times during the last couple of days that this would be an opportunity for them to spend time together, but why Kyle should have ever believed him… he didn't know.

It wasn't like there'd ever been any love or affection between them before. It wasn't like they had a real history with one another, and the moments in the past that they had shared… well, they weren't exactly good ones. So why should he have thought that he would come before Horatio's job?

_Especially_ when the job was one as falsely heroic as being a cop, Kyle wondered what would have made him even _think_ that he might come first. And certainly, he had to ask himself why he was even _wanting_ to come first to begin with. Was he really standing there, hoping that Horatio would pay attention to him?

_No_.

Okay, maybe he had been, but Kyle refused to let himself even consider doing that in the future. Horatio had made his choice, and Kyle wasn't willing to put himself in that position again.

At that moment, Horatio turned to look at Kyle. "Well..." His voice was filled with contrition, but Kyle hardly believed him. "It looks like there has been… a change in plans. I will… take you to Alexx, and…" He seemed almost regretful then. "And I will see you when… I can."

Kyle nodded his head. Whatever disappointment and anger he was feeling, he had no wish to share. Not only was there no point in doing that, but also, if Horatio were to realize that something _was_ wrong, it would mark his first demonstration of intelligence.

So naturally, Horatio just said, "Lets go then."

As Kyle followed, he told himself that in this case, at least, there hadn't been any surprises; he'd known that Horatio was going to be oblivious. And though that wasn't exactly a victory, at the moment, it was better than nothing.

It was a thought he clung to as they got into an elevator. This was better than nothing; doing this was better than jail; Horatio was better than no one. Things weren't great, but this had to be a start, an opening, a _slight_ improvement.

Right?

Answering yes was hard. Even as part of him believed it, there was no denying that it was difficult to say that things right now were an improvement.

Especially when they arrived at the morgue.

Kyle swallowed hard as Horatio turned to look at him and say, "Stay here."

As soon as the words had been uttered, the redhead disappeared behind two double doors that led to the morgue. Well, Kyle assumed that they led to some sort of autopsy room; there _was_ a sign hanging on the door that said, "Autopsy in progress" and "Keep out."

But since Horatio had just waltzed on through the doors as though there were no sign at all, Kyle supposed the true nature of the room in front of him could be something else. Whatever it was, scuffing his shoe along the linoleum floor, Kyle hoped that it wouldn't take long. If he were going to do this, he would have preferred to just get it over with.

Yet that type of thinking was abruptly forgotten when Horatio popped back out a minute or two later. "So Alexx is going to be… done in a moment. _She_… will come get you. All right?"

The sudden realization that Kyle was going to have to be around dead bodies soon frightened him.

_Disgusted_ him.

But all he could do was nod his head. The back of his throat was too scratchy and tight to give him voice. And besides, he'd already agreed to do the job; he'd already put himself in this position, and Horatio was going to leave either way. So Kyle knew that he could only pretend like this was an okay situation.

"Then I… will see you… later," Horatio told him before walking away.

Glancing back at the double doors, Kyle knew what he had to do.

He knew what he could _not_ do.

Moving away from the doors, he had no idea where he was headed. All he could do was mutter to himself, "No, you won't."

_End (70/??)_


	71. Chapter 70: No Direction

Author's Notes: Thanks to my beta for all of her help. Also thank you to 3, Josu, and RedHotLover for leaving reviews. It means a lot.

_Disclaimer: CSI: Miami belongs to CBS and company… not me._

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Seventy: No Direction**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_Lord save us all from a hope tree that has lost the faculty of putting out blossoms." – Mark Twain_

Blindly Yelina followed Alexx. She wasn't sure where they were headed or what Alexx had in mind, but Yelina implicitly trusted her. Of course she had to at the moment. Considering her mind was focused solely on the fact that Kyle was missing, she didn't have it in her to question anything.

But as they walked further into the building, Alexx explained nonetheless. "Horatio left Kyle outside the autopsy room about an hour ago. He had a case, and I told him that I'd be done soon. Of course, I didn't count on finding three human penises in my dead body either…"

She must have noticed the startled look on Yelina's face, because she quickly waved her hand in the air. "Never mind. Point is I didn't realize it would take so long, and when I _was_ finally finished, Kyle wasn't there."

"Do we know if he left the building?"

Alexx looked at her pointedly. "That's why we're headed toward security. They'll be able to tell us if he left or not. I'm _hoping_ he's still here, because if he's not…"

The thought didn't need to be finished.

It was a reality that Yelina was well aware of. A reality that had funneled itself into a fear, she could feel what her nephew was on the cusp of doing in her bones. And she wondered in that moment if that was how Horatio had felt for years now.

God only knew that he was well aware of Ray Junior's problems. Sometimes, Yelina felt that her brother-in-law knew more than she did. And now… now that she was in the same position he'd been in for years, she could see why he'd liked to keep a close eye on Ray… and why he'd eventually pulled away as well.

Admittedly, Yelina had only had a nephew (and she supposed he wasn't even really her nephew) for a very short while. But in that time, she'd felt the desire to know him more; she thought she felt what Horatio must have felt for Ray. She didn't live with Kyle, so that desire had turned into the tendency to seek him out in ways she wouldn't do with, say, her son. And that had been certainly true for a good while with Ray Junior and Horatio.

But given how both boys seemed intent on behaving, Yelina could see how Horatio might feel as though all of the grand gestures in the world were a mere reminder of how far Ray seemed keen on falling.

As she followed Alexx into the security room, Yelina could only hope that things wouldn't be quite so dramatic (or disastrous) with Kyle. However, that seemed unlikely, as the women starting talking to building security.

"We can review the tapes," a gruff older man whom Yelina didn't recognize said. "When do you think this kid went missing?"

"That's hard to say," Alexx answered grimly. "Lieutenant Caine left about an hour ago – I _think_. So anytime after that, Kyle Harmon could have disappeared."

The man nodded his head. "I'll start replaying the video."

It took about five minutes to figure out what had happened. Rewinding to the moment Horatio left, they could see how Kyle had left almost immediately after.

He hadn't even pretended to be interested in doing the job Horatio had set up for him.

Truth be told, Yelina could understand Kyle being reticent. This wasn't the place for a child, and a coroner's office was even less appropriate. But running away was just… unacceptable.

"Well, that settles it," Alexx announced, a frown on her face. "He's left the building." The expression on her face turning especially grim, she asked Yelina, "What am I supposed to tell Horatio?"

"Nothing," Yelina said immediately, the word popping out of her mouth before she even thought about it. "We can find him."

Alexx raised an eyebrow. "Do you have any idea where he would be?"

Yelina thought about that for a moment. Did she really have a clue as to where to start looking? At this point in time, she probably knew Kyle better than anyone else in their family did, but did she know him well enough to know where he was?

She wasn't sure.

Even if she could recall all of the places she'd followed him to when she'd been hired to watch him, there was no guaranteeing that he would be at _any_ of those places. For all she knew, he could have just runaway… hoping to _never_ be found.

The very idea made her sick to her stomach.

And unwilling to accept that it might be possible, she told Alexx, "I've investigated him before. I know where he likes to go." She sighed and shook her head. "I can't _guarantee_ that he will be at any of those places. But…"

"You think it's worth a try before telling Horatio," Alexx finished.

"Yes."

"Well… we couldn't file a missing persons report anyway. Not until twenty-four hours from now." She was hesitant to admit it, obviously, but Yelina could tell that Alexx was coming around to the idea. "And I definitely don't think it's a great idea to have Horatio running around like a lunatic."

It went unsaid that he spent enough time as it was doing precisely that, but both women knew it to be true. If Horatio were to know that Kyle was missing, the floodgates would open, and what little control Horatio normally had on his anger would slip. Understandably, he would be upset; he would want to find Kyle, but _less_ understandably, Horatio would go on a rampage to find him.

Well, that wasn't exactly true. Yelina could _understand_ the impulse to kill for your child. She could understand how a parent could easily lose their mind to save their baby, to protect them. But if Horatio were to let himself go… it wouldn't be because of that. He would _say_ that that was the reason, but deep down, she would suspect that he was just using Kyle's disappearance as an excuse.

It had happened before, happened _enough_ that it made her think that it wasn't his mother, his brother, his nephew, Eugene, or Yelina herself he was defending. It made her wonder if Horatio cared at all or if he was just using those events to allow himself to lose control.

Given how easy it was for him to go from a mild mannered man to a monster itching to be unleashed, she was afraid the answer was the latter.

She was afraid Horatio's desire to protect and defend came from his need to lash out.

Because if that were true, then he didn't care so much about anyone else; he would have been using everyone else instead of actually loving them. And when he already gave her so few reasons for her to want to be in his life, thinking that he might not care about them…

Well, if it were true, that would be it.

She would be done.

Truth be told, Yelina supposed that the right thing to do would be to let their relationship unfold on its own; it would be for her to stop interceding to allow his feelings (no matter what they were) become known to _her_.

But if she were to do that now, it would mean letting Kyle go missing; it would mean letting Horatio hear that news, and she wasn't cruel enough to do that.

So instead, she said, "Give me a couple hours. If Horatio's out on a call, he shouldn't be back before then anyway."

Alexx nodded her head but then asked, "And if he's not?"

Yelina thought about it for a moment. Although she was tempted to answer the question by saying, "Just don't tell him," the fact of the matter was she didn't feel comfortable asking Alexx to lie.

They all worked together, and if Yelina were in her position, she would have lied. But the fact of the matter was that you couldn't ask someone else to lie. You certainly couldn't _demand_ it. And in this case, Yelina wasn't even going to try. "Tell him what you think is best."

"All right."

Sensing that the conversation was over, Yelina told her, "I'll head out now. I'll call your cell if I find anything."

"Good."

But if Alexx sounded as though she were appreciative of the matter at hand, Eric sounded anything but.

Of course, he wasn't anything other than good-natured when Yelina explained that she had to leave; he didn't yell or complain or anything like that. Yet he didn't exactly seem sympathetic either, because all he told her was "You gotta do what you gotta do."

As she left the building, she hoped that Kyle had been predictable enough to let her do just that.

* * *

The second Kyle had been out the door, he'd taken off running. Almost of their own volition, his legs picked up the pace, his muscles aching as he sprinted across the parking lot.

It had been a while since he'd run, since he'd felt even remotely _free_. And though some might say that he was worried about getting caught, the thought hadn't actually entered his mind until he was panting by a stop sign a mile away.

He _could_ have been caught.

He _could_ have gotten in serious trouble.

But he hadn't been.

Well… Kyle supposed that he would be caught at _some_ point. Kids went missing every year, yes; they disappeared by running away or being kidnapped or _whatever_, never to be seen again. Yet Kyle knew that that wouldn't be the case with _him_. Now that he was the _lieutenant'_sson, people would care.

_Not_ about him obviously.

Maybe they would care about the idea of him, but they wouldn't _really_ give a shit; they would just see his blond hair and dark eyes and see that he was the son of someone _supposedly_ important, and they'd hunt him down.

Unfortunately.

Really, Kyle would have liked nothing more than to disappear at this point. To just float away from this world, to disappear into the air like ether, like… he didn't even know – it would have been nice.

It would have been better than this.

But then again, _anything_ would have.

Sweat dripping into his eyes, he squinted as he looked at his surroundings. He was on the side of a highway, in front of a Qdoba, and people were driving around, but nobody screamed, "Hi, I'm a little kid rapist; would you like to get in my car?" So that wasn't an option.

Again – kind of unfortunately.

And with no one to kidnap him and no place else to go, Kyle began to wonder what it was he should do now.

Go to Horatio's house?

Go back to the lab?

Try and break into the school on a Saturday?

He had no idea what he should do.

Nothing seemed right. Everything seemed like a wrong choice, like it would be a bad reminder of all the shit he'd been through _all_ of his damn life.

And with no direction in his life, Kyle did the only thing he knew how to do.

He started to walk.

_End (71/??)_


	72. Chapter 71: Found

Author's Note: Thanks to Roots4Miami, Josu, and OkieBeth05 for leaving reviews. I really appreciate the feedback. It means a lot to get reviews and hear what you have to say about what I've written. I can't thank you enough. Also thanks to my beta.

_Disclaimer: The show does not belong to me._

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Seventy-One: Found**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_Losing my mother at such an early age is the scar of my soul." – Mariska Hargitay_

It was weird – going back to all of the places where she'd originally spied on Kyle. The locations she'd found him still programmed into her GPS and etched in her memory, it was a reminder that the life-altering events they'd all been through were still fairly recent ones. That it didn't feel that way was a testament to just how destructive and shocking Horatio's choices and the repercussions of those choices had been.

But Yelina didn't want to think about that now.

In fact, the less she thought about Horatio, the better off she would probably be. Because as much as she was trying to move past what had happened, thinking about him just made her feel more betrayed.

And more alone.

Maybe that was irrational, because she knew that Horatio was essentially the same person he'd been for a long while. The news of Kyle might have been new, but the events that had led to Kyle's existence weren't. This was a betrayal sixteen years in the making, not one that had happened overnight. Which meant that Horatio was _basically_ unchanged from how he was a month ago.

But it didn't feel that way.

And that was precisely why she didn't want to go over the events in her head. It would just distract her from finding Kyle and from being able to calm him down when she did.

Yelina had no doubt that he was upset either. Some might have argued that, because she'd only caught a glimpse of him on that security tape, she couldn't really tell what emotional state he was in. But she'd seen that disturbed look in his eyes; the black and white footage might have been grainy, but it couldn't hide the way he seemed almost… _spooked_.

And in any case, though she hadn't known him long, she felt as though she knew him well enough to know what kind of boy he was.

He'd probably meant to hide it, of course, but she'd seen that he was more than a delinquent, more than a street kid with no morals, no manners, no future. Kyle would deny it more than likely, but it would be true nonetheless.

Yelina _had_ to believe that it was true. Or else, she wasn't sure she would be able to understand why Horatio had agreed to bring this child into their lives.

Right now though, none of that mattered – not Horatio's reasons, not Kyle's. The only thing of _any_ importance was finding out where he was at, and considering Yelina had looked at three places already, she was beginning to doubt that she would find him at all. There were still a few areas of Miami she could look – _would_ look – for him, but as each place turned up _nothing_, she was forced to accept the possibility that Kyle had just run away.

Maybe not _permanently_, she told herself to avoid getting upset. Maybe he planned on returning to Horatio. Perhaps what Kyle had wanted was a break (God only knew she could understand the sentiment), and he'd left the station to get one.

But then… if that were true, wouldn't he have gone to a place that he was familiar with? Comfortable with?

Though it would probably kill him to hear it, Kyle really was Horatio's son. He didn't seem to like to take chances; he didn't like to be in situations he was unfamiliar with, and he certainly didn't seem like the type of person to hide out in the _mall_ when he needed to think or get away.

Perhaps that was the point though, Yelina considered. Kyle was smart enough to know that someone would come looking for him as soon as Alexx realized that he was missing. And maybe he was trying to avoid being found until he was ready to talk to someone he knew.

She wasn't sure whether or not she hoped that was the case. On the one hand, she hoped that he would come back _willingly_. But she also wanted him to be some place she could find him. If only to avoid having to tell Horatio that his son was missing, she hoped that Kyle was somewhere she was going to look.

He was.

She was pulling up to the little strip of beach underneath one of the local piers when she spotted him. He was sitting on a rock, his feet hanging in the water that was being washed in by the tide, and though she could see he was smoking something, Yelina couldn't have been anything but relieved to see him. She'd been so afraid that she was running out of time.

By that point in the day, Alexx was probably worried enough to consider telling Horatio what had happened (if he hadn't already figured it out on her own). And Yelina herself had been only seconds ago beginning to feel the pressure of being unable to find her nephew.

But here he was, at the last place (of course) she decided to look.

As soon as she found a spot to park, she took out her cell phone. Furiously texting Alexx that she had Kyle, Yelina kept one eye constantly on the boy; the last thing she wanted to do was to have him spot her and run away once more.

In the end though, he didn't know she was there until she was standing in front of him, sea water pooling, much to her dismay, at her feet.

Blinking in surprise as she approached him, he asked carefully, "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," she told him, her gaze briefly flitting towards the joint he was smoking.

He looked at her doubtfully. "Really."

"I certainly didn't come down her to ruin my suit," she pointed out gently.

"Right."

The word could have sounded doubtful, but in this case, he sounded more… resigned than anything else. Almost as though he couldn't come up with a better reason for her to be there, his tone was one that reflected his capitulation and his capitulation alone.

And for that Yelina was rather grateful. She was far too accustomed to recalcitrant teenaged boys to be unappreciative of someone who wouldn't fight her. Quite frankly, the change in pace was nothing short of welcome, and though she would have preferred to _not_ be in this situation, given how bad it could have been, she was happy that he was willing to concede the point without much of an argument.

"Why are _you_ here?" she asked gently. She needed to know the answer if she were to help him at all, but she didn't want to push too hard. But apparently though she hadn't pushed hard _enough,_ because he shrugged and said nothing. "Kyle, I know the terms of your community service, and I know that Horatio wanted you to perform those hours at the lab with Alexx Woods."

He looked at her carefully before taking a long pull on the joint in his fingers. The act of defiance one she couldn't ignore, he was barely courteous enough to blow the smoke away from her. "You just know everything, huh."

"If I did, I wouldn't ask why you are here."

"Well, I don't feel like sharing."

Yelina nodded her head in understanding. She couldn't pretend as though she didn't comprehend his reticence. Truth be told, after everything he'd been through, it would have been foolish to expect anything other than defensiveness in this situation. And noticing her own body language -- or more specifically, the way she was standing over him, her shadow casting dark gray light on his body and the rock he was sitting on -- she realized that she was more of an interrogator in that moment than anything else.

Which she did _not _want to be.

Sighing, she sat down on the rock next to him, their thighs brushing against one another. It didn't get past her that her parents were going to be _so _dirty by the time she stood up; if anything, she was painfully aware of that truth. But she knew that her nephew was worth more than the pants, that earning his trust was worth more than the pants. And in any case, her trousers were probably ruined by now anyway, the linen of her suit having already eagerly soaked up the saltwater lapping at her.

"You don't need to do this," he told her quietly. "I don't need a babysitter. I'll find my way back, so -"

"So then you plan on returning?"

Kyle gave her a deadpan look.

"I know that it seems like a foolish question," she admitted. "But if there is one thing I've learned from teenage boys, it's that they tend to do foolish things."

"I'm not like your kid," Kyle snapped haughtily.

"No. No, you're not."

He stood up. "I wasn't running away. I just..." He didn't finish the thought.

She waited for him to say something. Her warm gaze intent on him, she didn't want to offer an explanation if she could force one from him. But really, it just seemed that the quieter she stayed, the more clammed up he became.

So Yelina decided that it was time to lay it all on the line for him. "Listen to me, Kyle. I know that it's not in your nature to trust people, and I know that… whatever is bothering you is probably something you don't want to talk about." He looked at her as though she were stating the obvious. "But at this point… you don't really have an option."

"You're going to torture me for information?" He was being sarcastic, which made her frown. Sometimes, based on what he'd been through, she considered him so much older than he was; his maturity on the whole was much higher than other children his age. But in the end…

He _was_ a child.

"Of course not," she told him, refusing to allow herself to respond to his anger. "But you _did_ agree to do a job. When you get back, Dr. Woods is going to want an explanation. _Horatio_ is going to want an explanation. And most importantly, the state's attorney is going to want to hear one. Especially since the next time you take a urine test, you will be testing positive for marijuana."

Kyle looked guilty in that moment, but he said nothing in response. Which she supposed was better than being on the receiving end of his sarcasm. Nevertheless, it was _not_ an answer, and that was what she truly needed.

"You may believe that going through this alone is the right thing to do. I would if I were in your position, Kyle. But the truth is your word to _them_… well, it doesn't mean much," she told him soberly. "If you were to tell me what's wrong, if you help me understand what happened, I can help you rectify the situation."

For a brief moment, she thought her attempt at getting him to talk had failed. He didn't say anything right away, and his silence made her think that he was determined to go this alone.

Eventually though, with a lick of the lips, he asked her, "What if I don't want to rectify the situation?"

She looked at him carefully. "What do you mean, sweetheart?"

He literally flinched at the affectionate name.

Cringing inwardly, Yelina ached for him. His inability to accept or appreciate even the slightest bit of affection made her feel so sorry for him. Though she hadn't known him for very long, she already felt protective of him, concerned for him. And the very idea that he had been without any love or appreciation for so long that he could actually be _uncomfortable_ at the idea of receiving it made her…

_Furious_.

With Horatio, with Kyle's mother, with everyone who had been responsible for raising Kyle since then.

It infuriated her to know that he had slipped through the cracks, that try as she might to make it better, he had still been failed in the past.

And perhaps the worst part of all was that she had to keep all of those feelings to herself. Inwardly, she knew all too well that Kyle wouldn't be interested in an apology or her pity, and her anger would only serve to remind him of all the terrible things he'd been through. So she really had no other choice than to keep her dissatisfaction to herself.

Suppressing the emotion as best as she could, she heard him say, "I mean, what if I don't want or _care_ about making things better with those people?"

"Why wouldn't you want to?" It wasn't so much a challenge as it was an earnest question, and she was glad to see him take it that way.

"Does the reason matter?" She gave him a pointed look, as if to say that of course it did. "Why?"

"Kyle, if there's one thing I've learned about you, it is that you are not impolite. And more importantly, you are smart enough to realize the opportunity you are losing by –"

"By _what_?" he demanded to know. "By not spending my day knee deep in dead _bodies_?" He scoffed as he stood up. Smashing his cigarette into the jagged edge of the rock, he said defensively, "I _tried_ to go along with that. But I couldn't – I _can't_. And honestly if it comes down to that or going to jail, I'm choose jail any day."

Yelina looked at him carefully, silently trying to assess what he was feeling right now. Every muscle in his body was tense, as though every fiber of his being was straining to keep him upright. And truth be told, if he was as wound as he seemed, she knew that she would need to choose her words very precisely. One wrong move, and he _would_ bolt.

"Kyle… you don't want to go to jail. You –"

"Oh, I forgot, _Yelina_, where you thought you knew everything there is to know about me," he snapped bitterly, so bitterly that she was almost shocked by his tone.

Folding her arms across her chest, she agreed with him. "You're right. I don't know everything. _However_, I'm hard pressed to find a reason why prison should seem more appealing to you than –"

"You want me to _give_ you one?"

"I would like that. Yes."

"Okay," he nearly snarled, his fingers shaking at his sides. "How about the fact that I don't want to _see_ any more dead bodies in my lifetime? How about I've seen my fair share, and I can't _take_ having to deal with any more? That good enough for you?!"

He was shouting at her, his face bright red. But she didn't even have time to register what he was talking about before all of the color in his cheeks drained away. Almost as though he understood what he'd just admitted to, he looked as though his words were going to be punctuated with vomit.

And in an instant she instinctively understood what he was trying to tell her. His reaction so visceral that it could only mean one thing, she knew that he was talking about his mother.

Yelina's lungs failing her, she felt as though she'd been punched in the stomach as she reeled from the revelation. Her mouth opening and closing, she eventually whispered, "Kyle…"

But it was too late.

He'd already taken off running.

_End (72/??)_


	73. Chapter 72: Strained Relationships

Author's Notes: Thanks to Josu, Roots4Miami, and 3 for reading and reviewing. I really appreciate the feedback. Thanks again. Also thank you to my beta for her help.

_Disclaimer: Don't own it._

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Seventy-Two: Strained Relationships**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_The secret of many a man's success in the world resides in his insight into the moods of mean and his tact in dealing with them." – J.G. Holland_

The words escaping him before he could stop himself, Kyle heard himself saying, "How about the fact that I don't want to _see_ any more dead bodies in my lifetime? How about I've seen my fair share, and I can't _take_ having to deal with any more? That good enough for you?!"

He could feel the burn in his cheeks and the rawness in the back of his throat. He could hear the honesty in his tone, as well as the anger, and he knew that Yelina wasn't missing any of it either. And he knew that he'd said too much, done too much, gone too far.

He knew that there was no going back, no taking back what he'd said.

And so, he ran.

He heard Yelina say his name, but by the time the single word reached his ears, he was already hurling himself in the opposite direction. Though it seemed like what he'd said was inescapable, Kyle told himself as he sprinted that there was no harm in trying.

Only that wasn't true.

So focused on getting away from something he would never be able to outrun, he didn't notice the small cluster of rocks in front of him. And because of that, he didn't know he was headed for danger until he was already tripping over the rock.

Wet sand flying in the air as he fell forward, Kyle crashed into the cool ground. His knees and palms scraping roughly against the stone and cracked pieces of seashells, he couldn't help but think:

So much for a quick getaway.

He didn't have time to get up before Yelina was by his side. Snapping at her, he said preemptively, "I'm fine."

But he didn't dare look at her.

The concern that had been wafting from her like a perfume since the second she'd found him was cloying enough on its own; _seeing_ it once more _now_ would just make everything so much worse.

Yet it was hard to ignore her.

She was crouched next to him, one of her palms flat against the wet ground to balance herself against the rushing tide. And out of the corner of his eye, he could see both her and the worry she seemed to constantly carry around for him.

"I'm fine," he repeated.

"Kyle –"

"I said I'm _fine_."

He could see Yelina's head bobbing up and down. "So you've told me."

"It's the truth," he insisted, feeling like a little kid trying to get away with breaking the family's antique vase.

"Well, as questionable as that is…." She gave him a challenging look, but he didn't have the desire to fight her. She was going to believe whatever she wanted to believe anyway, so what was the point in trying to convince her otherwise? "I was not going to press you on the matter any further. What I _was_ going to ask you is whether or not you plan on running away again. Because if you are, it would be nice if you gave me an opportunity to change into sneakers," she explained, a wry smile on her face.

But the joke didn't make Kyle feel even remotely amused.

"I didn't ask you to chase after me," he muttered.

"No, you didn't," she answered honestly. "But we're family, and that's what –"

"Technically we're not," he pointed out, finally allowing his gaze to meet hers.

She frowned a little. "You are my brother-in-law's child."

"But you're not married."

And that made her frown even more. "My husband died," she said in a pained voice. "But that doesn't mean that Horatio or _you_ are any less my family than you were before."

Pushing himself up onto his knees, he didn't want to concede the point. "Forgive me if I don't see it that way."

She gave him a dark look as they both stood once more. But if she was angry, she didn't respond that way. Instead of yelling, she simply told him, "Then accept that I do… that I _care_ about you. And though you do not ask, that means I will follow you. No matter where you go."

Kyle didn't know what to say to that. Though he would have liked to have said something clever, he knew that, in the end, he just _wasn't_ that smart.

And part of him was grateful when Yelina offered cheerily, "Let me buy you lunch."

"Why?" He didn't mean to sound so suspicious, especially when he rationally understood that she had actually been nothing but kind to him thus far. But the fact of the matter was...

He _was_ suspicious.

What she was doing was suspicious.

Because if there was one thing he'd learned in life, it was that people didn't do things out of the goodness of their hearts; people acted out of self-interest. And if she were being kind to him now, there was a reason for it. She could cloak herself in the whole "family" title and all of that, but at the end of the day, she wanted something from him. And though he couldn't name what that was, he knew that that didn't mean that she _didn't_ want something in return for her supposed kindness.

Clearly resenting his thought process, Yelina said, "I don't know. Maybe I had the irrational idea that you were hungry after your little adventure this morning."

Kyle scowled. "Right. Like you don't have anything better to do on a Saturday –"

"You're right; I _do_ have things to do, Kyle," she interrupted quickly. "Better? Not really, but since I've already left work –"

"You were working today?"

She shrugged. "Since I've already left, it would only make sense that I have my lunch before I go back, as I doubt I'll have another opportunity to leave my desk."

And once more Kyle had to protest. "I didn't ask you to do that."

"I'm not accusing you," she told him quietly. "I _am_ offering you a chance to calm down, eat something, and figure out what you're going to tell your father."

Just the mention of Horatio made Kyle's ears perk up. "Horatio? You mean I'm going to have to tell him?"

She rolled her eyes. "Did you expect to do this and _not_ have a conversation about it?"

"I don't know," he admitted as he turned his head away from her. His gaze on the water just out of reach, he swallowed hard. "I guess I didn't think… you know."

Kyle intentionally didn't finish the thought. Although he couldn't deny that he felt that Horatio was ambivalent about him, actually saying it… well, it was something Kyle didn't want to do.

That would just make it seem even more real.

And when he already felt that knowledge in his heart, he didn't need to speak it. He knew Horatio didn't care, and whether anyone else knew that or not was unimportant.

But to be perfectly honest, Kyle _wished_ Yelina didn't know. Because when she deduced what he was talking about, he wanted nothing more than to be any place other than where he was at that moment.

"He cares about you, Kyle, and when he finds out about this… you're going to have to talk to him. "

"So don't tell him," Kyle replied peevishly.

"You ran away from where he works. You left the people he works with _daily_ wondering where you were," she pointed out. "Even if I stay silent, you cannot anticipate that _anyone_ else will."

He sighed, knowing in his heart that she wasn't wrong about that. Everyone in that building was loyal to Horatio, and because of that, he would end up hearing about what had happened.

There was no avoiding it.

And perhaps sensing the feeling of dread coursing through his body, she said, "You know that he will find out. You know that he will want to know why this happened and…"

Her voice trailed off as he felt himself bristle at her words.

She could tell that he was uncomfortable with the idea that Horatio would be interested in him, much to Kyle's dismay. Although he didn't exactly think any of this was a secret, again, the possibility of someone else saying it was an upsetting prospect.

"He cares about you," she told him, one of her hands moving to his back. She was beginning to guide him off the beach, and he, too disturbed by the whole touchy-feely thing, could only follow her.

"I know you like him," Kyle said in irritation. "But –"

"Let me buy you lunch," Yelina interrupted loudly.

"Well, fine, if you're going to insist." Even to his own ears, he sounded ungrateful. But in this instance, he sort of was; he didn't really get what Yelina was trying to prove, and frankly, he was a little tired of beating around the bush with her.

"I am, and he _does_," she said forcefully. Though not angry, her words were spoken with a ferocity he wasn't sure he'd known she'd possessed.

As she guided him to the car, she continued, "I understand that… things have not been _ideal_."

Climbing into the passenger side, he muttered under his breath, "That's an understatement."

And it really was.

It _really, really, really_ was.

Your dad not being around for all of your football games because of work? Not ideal. Your dad not letting you go out to a party on a school night? Not ideal.

Your dad not even knowing you existed for sixteen years?

Yeah, "not ideal" didn't even begin to cover that shit.

And he didn't think he was being peevish or immature about that. He didn't think it was too much to ask for a dad who knew that he _existed_. Maybe Kyle was wrong about that, but he didn't think it was too much to want a father who had made different and _better_ choices in life.

Obviously, none of that was going to change now. There was no magic wand to wave that would make any of this any different than it was.

But why was he supposed to just accept things the way they were? Why wasn't he allowed to mourn the life he'd done nothing to _not_ deserve?

Why wasn't he allowed to want for _more_, for _better_?

Angrily buckling his seatbelt, he told Yelina. "You can put it however you want, but I'm not talking to him about this, about _anything_."

"Why not?" she asked curiously, her hand pausing on the keys, which she'd placed in the ignition.

"Because."

"That's not an answer."

He shrugged as if to say that he didn't care.

Starting the car in defeat, Yelina told him, "You're an intelligent person, Kyle. Surely by now you realize that it does _you_ no good to keep things from Horatio."

He shifted angrily in his seat. "I'm smart enough to know that 'the truth will set you free' is shit, yeah."

Immediately she shook her head. "I'm not trying to feed you platitudes."

"Then what are you trying to do?" He tried to sound more demanding than genuinely curious, but he wasn't sure if he succeeded.

"Show you that things can't get better if you refuse to let Horatio in your life, if you refuse to _talk_ to him and let him learn who you are," she explained, her voice louder and accent thicker than normal.

But he wasn't persuaded. "Well, I'm not going to do that."

"Why not?"

"Because I shouldn't have to be the one who makes the effort," he snapped. "_He_ should be the one –"

"Yes," Yelina interrupted. "Yes, he should be. But either he's not or you're thwarting all of his efforts by pretending to be someone you're –"

"This isn't my fault." He couldn't have sounded more hurt by the accusation if he tried.

Unfortunately.

"That's not what I'm saying," she told him with a frown. "What I _am_ saying is that so far, this has been a failure."

"No kidding."

"And it might get better on its own. But more than likely, the _only_ way your relationship with him will happen is you _let_ him in, if _you_ show him what you need."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she was quick to confess, "I get that that's not easy for you. I understand that… _Horatio_ doesn't make it easy for you."

The way she spoke – the honesty and bluntness of the comment – made it seem like she knew exactly what she was saying. Almost as though she understood how hard it was to be close to Horatio, it made Kyle wonder just how accurate his comment to his douche bag cousin had been. Had Horatio and Yelina been getting it on the other day?

Oh, Kyle had no doubts that the two adults were dabbling in _something_. Horatio would have had to have been _blind_ or totally gay not to be interested in Yelina (and yes, Kyle realized that it was a little wrong to be saying that someone who considered themselves his aunt was hot). And though Kyle couldn't see what Yelina was getting out of it, the way those two interacted with one another spoke to an underlying attraction.

Of that, Kyle was sure.

But he was also equally sure that nothing real had ever happened between the man he was supposed to call father and the woman who was demanding the title of aunt. They might have been acting like something between them was unavoidable, but so far, Kyle suspected that they _had_ avoided it. If only because of the way Yelina was talking now, he thought that nothing had happened between Horatio and her.

And that made Kyle curious.

The feeling getting the better of him, he couldn't help but angle his body to face Yelina. His dark gaze trained on her, he asked, "Why are you trying so hard to help a guy who _clearly_ doesn't want you?"

_End (73/??)_


	74. Chapter 73: Finding Out

Author's Notes: Thanks to Josu and Roots4Miami for reading and reviewing. I really appreciate the support, especially since this story is so long and so old. It means a lot. Thanks to my beta as well.

_Disclaimer: Don't own it._

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Seventy-Three: Finding Out**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_The beginning of knowledge is the discovery of something we do not understand." – Frank Herbert_

Yelina gripped the steering wheel tightly. She knew that Kyle's question (if it could even be called that) had been asked out of anger – which only meant that what she was saying was getting to him. And even if he was furious with her now, it meant that part of him was considering what she was telling him to do.

Of course, that didn't make the question any _less_ biting. No matter his intention, no matter its significance, the comment hurt. The remark one her own mind had asked over and over and echoed now, it was something that her body longed for an answer for. Because, although she never _regretted_ doing anything for Horatio, part of Yelina couldn't help but wonder if he would ever warm up to her.

Oh, he _wanted_ her.

Of that she had _no_ doubts.

But she was more doubtful about what it would take to make _him_ realize that time was passing them by and she was getting neither younger nor increasingly available or naïve. After all, nothing had worked so far. No amount of flirtation or personal problems to trauma or affection had brought them together.

Admittedly, that made her sound desperate, as though she were solely living her life to catch a little bit of Horatio's attention. And that was most assuredly _not_ who she was or what she was capable of; she valued her life and her self outside of how worthy Horatio deemed it to be. Yet she did try to earn his affections, regardless of how pathetic that seemed.

Because in the end, as happy as she was, she couldn't help but want him. Regardless of everything he had put her through, despite all of the bad things that had come from being a member of the Caine family, she still wanted him.

And she knew that he wanted her too. She wasn't the only one with romantic feelings bubbling inside of her, and because of that, it seemed like such a simple equation; if they both wanted to be together and they were both single, shouldn't they be together?

Shouldn't it be _easy_ to be with him?

Inwardly, Yelina thought that it should be, and that if things were this complicated, then maybe she should take that as a sign to move on.

But she wasn't moving on, any more than she was answering Kyle's question.

Well, she thought decisively, at least she could rectify one of those things.

Pulling into the parking lot of the nearest restaurant, she stopped the car with a loud screech. Turning to look at Kyle, who at least had the decency to look a little guilty, Yelina explained, "I care about Horatio. I care about _you_, and whether or not he chooses – or, for that matter, you choose – to reciprocate, I care." As she took the keys out of the ignition, she added, "That's why."

She didn't give him a chance to respond before getting out of the car. Staying in the vehicle would only encourage him to persist with his stupidity; years with Ray Junior had taught her as much, and the last thing she wanted was to give Kyle any reason to continue with that line of questioning.

And so it came as no surprise that, when he got out of the car to follow her inside, he changed the subject, "I'm really not that hungry."

From the forced tone of his voice, she could tell that he was lying – at least about the hungry part. No doubt, he had no desire to sit with her any longer, to talk to her any more, but it wasn't hard to tell that he _did_ want food.

However, knowing that he wouldn't appreciate such deductions, she simply shrugged and told him, "Then you don't have to get anything. You can just watch me eat instead."

Yelina held the door to the restaurant open for him, and, although he went in, it was impossible to miss the air of defeat about him. Frankly it would have made her feel guilty if not for the fact that it was proof that _someone_ in this stubborn family was capable of listening to her.

As she stepped inside behind him, she instinctively took a glance at their surroundings. She'd never been to this particular eatery before, and she was curious to see if it looked as humble as its exterior did. Her eyes darting left to right, she was pleased to see that the place was much nicer than she'd expected; when she'd pulled into the parking lot, she'd just been looking for a place – _any_ place – to stop. But she had done so with the knowledge that if it looked as though they might catch hepatitis, she would absolutely insist on them leaving.

Yet this ended up being more than sufficient. The room was decorated in dark reds and golds, with navy blue chairs and white table linens that looked neatly pressed and freshly cleaned. The strong, sweet smell of Indian food filled the air, and though Yelina wasn't a huge fan of the cuisine (it wasn't spicy enough), she was more than willing to eat it. It might not have been her favorite food; it might not have been all that appropriate to eat it before returning to work, but at least the cloying smell would hide the stench of pot that was on both her and Kyle.

Frankly that was reason enough to insist on eating here. But if Kyle had any objections, he certainly didn't share them. His silence only reinforcing their own, it wasn't until their food arrived that she broached the conversation once more.

Swallowing a piece of Karahi lamb, she felt the traditionally Pakistani dish burn her taste buds with the flavors of ginger and chili. It definitely wasn't as spicy as she would have liked, but the red meat was thankfully satisfying nonetheless, which she was grateful for; quite frankly, after the morning she'd had – on a Saturday no less – she'd needed to sink her teeth into some meat. And then, dabbing her lips with her napkin, she spoke up. "I am curious, Kyle. I can only assume that this idea of you working at the police department was Horatio's."

"It was," he muttered, spooning some of his lentil dish into his mouth.

"So what I can't quite figure out is why you agreed to it," she told him gently. In the back of her mind, Yelina knew how judgmental and accusatory the words could sound. And given the state Kyle was in, he was more than likely to feel judged and accused anyway, so she tried to be as soft about it as possible.

It must have worked in the end, because Kyle wasn't angry in his response. Instead choosing to shrug his shoulders, he said, "It seemed like the right thing to do."

"Why?"

He looked at her blankly. "I don't know."

But she shook her head. "I think you do." He scoffed. "Maybe I'm wrong," she conceded to prevent him from getting angry. "But you don't seem like the kind of person to do things without reasons. I would just like to know yours."

"Like I said, it seemed like the right thing to do." But this time he elaborated. "He suggested it, and I thought it was better to say yes than to tell him that I had no interest in what he did for a living."

Taking another bite of food, Yelina took the time to consider what he had said. On the one hand, she could understand the instinct to please, especially in this scenario; Horatio had probably come to Kyle with this idea, and Kyle, not exactly feeling secure in this messed up family, had simply agreed to be avoid being disagreeable. Despite what his actions and words might have suggested today, Yelina understood that Kyle was precisely the type of person to avoid a fight like that if he could.

But on the other hand, by telling Horatio he was okay with something when he wasn't…

Well, that had just made things worse.

"Kyle," she told him in a soft voice. "I know that the last thing you feel comfortable doing is letting him in." Setting her fork down, she said, "He's not exactly the easiest person to trust or like –"

"That's an understatement," Kyle muttered.

"And it's not in your nature to trust people easily," she continued, ignoring his comment. "I can't force you to trust him. I can't demand that you tell him why you left or why you're uncomfortable working in a coroner's office. But keeping all of that a secret…" She shook her head. "You are depriving yourself of a relationship that could mean something to you."

Kyle opened his mouth to respond, but she held up a hand to stop him. "Hear me out. As much as you don't want to open yourself up to him, consider how nice it would be to have a father."

He looked at her darkly. His voice filled with sarcasm, he muttered, "Oh, but haven't you heard? I have one these days."

She sighed, fearing she'd gotten nowhere.

* * *

With the day wearing on as slowly as seemingly possible, Horatio couldn't help but think that maybe he'd made a mistake by having Kyle start volunteering with Alexx on the same day that Horatio himself was working. Because right now, he was on a case, but his mind couldn't have been further away.

From what he gathered, they were getting closer and closer to the culprit. But it didn't matter how many potential criminals they interviewed or the amount of evidence they gathered.

Horatio was only thinking about Kyle.

Were things going well with Alexx? Badly? Horribly?

Horatio had no idea, and he was curious – disturbingly so. He'd said that Kyle should do the volunteer work with Alexx in the hopes that the boy would learn what it was like to be a C.S.I, so that he would learn what life was like for Horatio himself. Maybe that way they would bond.

Now, however, he found himself motivated by something else. It hadn't been a conscious thought when he'd suggested it, but the longer Kyle was working with Alexx, the more Horatio found himself wondering if his son were any good at it.

Naturally, Horatio didn't expect Kyle to be… _exactly_ like him. That wasn't the kind of person Horatio wanted to be, and truth be told, at this point, he would have been happy just to have _any_ idea who Kyle was. Because when you were starting from scratch sixteen years after the fact, Horatio knew that you couldn't be choosey with who your son turned out to be.

And in this case, if Kyle had any sort of natural aptitude for crime solving, that wasn't so much Horatio being narcissistic as he was just downright _grateful_ to have _something_ in common with his son.

That thought bolstering him throughout the day, it was one that also threatened to unhinge him if he continued to think about it without an answer for much longer.

So it came as no surprise that he was quick to return to Kyle and Alexx as soon as possible.

But whatever positive outlook he might have had on today was promptly destroyed the moment he entered the morgue. Alexx, oblivious to his presence, was cleaning up after what he could only assume was an autopsy.

Announcing his presence, he said slowly, "Knock knock."

When she looked up at him, he could see that sadness in her eyes. "Hi, Horatio."

"Everything all right?"

For a brief moment, she just looked at him as though she had no idea how to answer the question. Her dark eyes trained on him, she hesitated – very clearly _hesitated_ – to speak, and that made Horatio think that there was no way her response could be good.

"Well…"

"How did the boy do?" Horatio asked more directly.

Alexx licked her lips before looking away. "Well, honestly, I was hoping we could have this situation resolved before you got back, but Yelina hasn't brought him back –"

"What does… Detective Salas have to do with this?" He tried to sound calm about it, but truthfully, Horatio didn't like where this was headed, and there was no hiding that fact. Because if Yelina had insinuated herself into this, then something had obviously gone very, _very_ wrong.

"I never got a chance to work with Kyle, Horatio," Alexx confessed, her hands scrubbing at the metal autopsy table with renewed vigor. "He ran away before I had the opportunity to even say hello."

He bristled as he tried to take in what she was saying. His mind blocked, the blood-brain barrier within him also somehow managing to prevent this information from seeping in, it was with effort that he eventually replied, "Well… is he okay?"

"I guess so. He ran off, and I ran into Yelina. We looked at the security footage, and she went after him. I got a text message from her not too long ago saying she found him," she explained, much to Horatio's relief. "But I haven't talked to her since then, and I haven't seen your boy either."

Horatio sighed. Though this really wasn't his fault, he felt the need to apologize. "I'm sorry. I… really am."

"No need to apologize," Alexx said immediately. "This work isn't cut out for everyone, Horatio. I told you I didn't have a problem taking him on, and I don't. But that doesn't mean he's ready for it yet."

But her words fell deaf on his ears, because the fact of the matter was that nobody had _forced_ Kyle into doing this. Horatio had suggested it, yes, but if the teenager were really against it, he could have always said no. And frankly if he were going to leave everyone here at a loss as to where he was, he _should_ have said no.

Yet Horatio didn't let his anger or disappointment show. Instead, he simply nodded his head once before pulling out his phone. Speaking to her one last time, he told Alexx, "Thank you, Ma'am."

Walking away, he glanced down at his cell and quickly scrolled through his contact list. Not truly understanding what had happened this morning, Horatio knew that his only chance of comprehending what had happened involved talking to Kyle.

Quickly hitting the buttons on his phone, Horatio promptly sent Yelina a text message. It contained only one sentence:

_Bring him back._

_End (74/??)_


	75. Chapter 74: Machinations

Author's Notes: Thank you to 3, Roots4Miami, and Josu for the feedback. I really appreciate it. Also thank you to my beta for her help. I appreciate that a lot as well.

_Disclaimer: Not mine_.

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Seventy-Four: Machinations**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_While we are sleeping, two-thirds of the world is plotting to do us in." – Dean Rusk_

Kyle was mid-bite when Yelina went to check her phone. He hadn't heard the thing ring or buzz, indicating that she had a phone call, voice mail, or text, but she must have been getting one of the three; at that moment, she looked up apologetically from her lap. "I'm sorry," she explained. "I have to look at this."

To be honest, Kyle didn't see any need for an apology or explanation. At that particular instant, what he really needed and wanted was space anyway, so what did he care if she were to take a call?

But then, as if the universe had decided to answer that rhetorical question, he realized that he _should_ have cared. Because the second she looked up, she said, "We need to go."

"Why?"

She hesitated for a brief moment before saying, "That was your father. He wants you back at the –"

"I'm not going," Kyle interrupted with as much firmness as he could muster in his tone.

Yelina calmly dabbed at her lips with a napkin. "I would like to make things as easy as possible for you. But I have to take you back at some point."

"_Why_?"

He knew he sounded like an angry five year old, but frankly, he was tired of all these decisions being made for him. It was making him feel as though he were little more than private property in all of this; not an actual human being but something akin to a sack of potatoes, he was being treated as though he had no feelings, no emotions, and certainly no rights when it came to how his life should be lived. From living with Horatio to what grade Kyle would be in to where he would do his community service – those had all been decisions originating with someone else.

With someone who didn't know him at all.

And if he sounded like a child because of that, he really didn't give a shit.

"Suffice it to say," she said, interrupting his turbulent thoughts. "I would rather _avoid_ being charged with kidnapping."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "It's not kidnapping if I'm interested in being 'napped."

"Yes, it is," she insisted. "If your father wants you to be in a certain place and I prevent that from happening, it really doesn't matter what you want."

"Of course not," he muttered. _Of course_ it wouldn't matter what he wanted; in this situation, had it ever?

"I mean in the eyes of the law."

He tossed his napkin onto his plate as Yelina reached into her purse for her wallet. "Then the law can suck my –"

"I understand that you don't want to go back, but at some point, you're going to have to," she told him firmly, as though there were no debating what she was saying. "And when you do, you're not going to be able to avoid talking to your father about –"

"You'd be surprised what I know how to avoid," he muttered bitterly.

Yelina handed her credit card to the waiter who was pretending not to listen to the conversation but clearly _was_. Only when the douche bag had left did she respond, "Your ability to avoid conversations with your father hardly constitutes as something shocking. Quite frankly, I would only be surprised if you took the time_ to_ talk to Horatio about what is bothering you," she told him honestly.

She was so smooth that he almost didn't realize what she was trying to do. But the fact of the matter was that, luckily for him, he hadn't just entered the game; he'd been around the block enough times, entered enough rounds, to know when he was being terribly challenged.

"Nice try," he said in a tone as equally bored as hers had been. "But if you're going to manipulate me, you're going to need to step up your game."

"I'm not trying to –"

"Yeah, you were," he insisted, refusing to get up as she was doing. The bill paid, Nosey McBitch Ass gone from their table – it was very clearly time to leave.

But Kyle wasn't going to be going anywhere.

Not with her.

Not when it meant going to _him_.

And if avoiding Horatio meant sitting here like a jackass, Kyle was more than willing to do just that.

His voice as unyielding as his mind, he said, "So if you're hoping to trick me into joining you, you're going to have to try harder."

Yelina sighed, folding her arms across her chest. "What's it going to take then?"

"Excuse me?" He looked at her as though she had lost her mind.

"I figure that there is something I can do or say to get you back into my car and to your father," she said. "If you had planned on running away for good, you wouldn't have gone to places you're familiar –"

"How do you know they're familiar?" he challenged.

Reluctantly, Yelina sat back down; perhaps she realized that this wasn't going to be a quick conversation. Or maybe she just didn't want anyone to hear what she was about to say, but either way…

It was keeping them from meeting up with Horatio.

"The day we met, I was following you," she pointed out in a casual voice. "I know where you like to go, and –"

"And what else do you know?" At that point, he was more curious than concerned, but he knew that could change depending on her answer.

She shrugged. "I did the research," she explained. "I didn't just follow you blindly; I found every scrap of paper I could on you." Looking at him seriously, Yelina added slowly, "I won't pretend that I know everything about you. I don't. But there's very little that has been documented about you that I don't know."

Immediately, there was a vague sense that his privacy had been violated. There was outrage but a subdued outrage; it was hard to know how angry he should be or what he should be angry about. Because, okay, Yelina was saying that she knew what had been documented about him, but there was no way for _him_ to know exactly what that meant. Things could be on paper and not mean anything; she might know when his first doctor's visit in life was. But that didn't mean squat, so it really just depended on how good a detective she was.

And if that was what everything hinged on, frankly, Kyle didn't like his odds. Because as little as he knew Yelina, he _did_ know that she wasn't an idiot. Actually, she was pretty smart, intuitive – more so – okay, _way_ more so than Horatio was. So if everything depended on how intelligent and resourceful she was, Kyle had the sneaking suspicion that he was screwed.

And that putting everything suddenly into perspective, he knew then _precisely_ what he wanted.

"I want to see what you have on me. Now."

She hesitated, and that made him add threateningly, "Or I'm not going anywhere with you."

Yelina rolled her eyes and looked away. "Most of the materials I collected, I've either destroyed or gave them to your father to –"

"Then you'll just have to collect them again, won't you?" He wasn't going to budge on this; he needed to know what everyone else seemed to know about him.

"That'll take time."

Instantly, he capitulated, "Fine. I can wait. But if I do, then I want something else from you too."

She clearly bristled at the request, as though she was offended by the idea of him demanding things from her. So it came as no surprise that she had to ask him what he wanted through gritted teeth. "And what would that be?"

"I want info."

"About what exactly?" she asked in a way that told him she really didn't want to know the answer.

"My father."

* * *

His mother had left earlier in the day with the parting words that his grandmother would be there later to make him breakfast. The younger of the two old bats had said that if he'd wanted to break her fascist rules (okay, that hadn't been her _exact_ words, but Ray Junior was willing to take artistic liberties), he should leave then.

But Ray hadn't.

At the time, he hadn't thought he'd needed to. He'd thought that this mother wouldn't actually bring her own mother into this mess just to see if he would run away. He knew his mom well enough to know that she wasn't exactly a fan of _her_ mother (apparently, that gene ran in the family), and she wouldn't want the old bag to get involved if all his mom wanted to do was to test him, to see what he would do when he was finally alone.

Apparently, he'd been wrong about that.

His mother was, he supposed, _not_ above bringing in her own mortal enemy to see this pathetic attempt at a punishment through. Indeed, twenty minutes after his mother had left, his grandmother had shown up.

He _really_ hadn't anticipated _that_.

And though part of him had supposed and still supposed he could just slip out a window and make a break for it, the rest of him knew that he would never get away with it. His mom would eventually find out, and when she did, he would be in even more trouble than he already was. Which he didn't _really_ care about in and of itself; incurring his mother's wrath was as normal for him as breathing was. But in this case, it was clear that she was _hoping_ he would break the rules.

Yup, his own _mother_ was trying to get him in more trouble.

Ray Junior had no idea why she would do that. He hadn't been smoking what _she_ was clearly smoking, so he couldn't really say. But he knew that she hadn't openly offered the info about his grandmother coming over out of kindness; his mother had had a reason, and _that_ made him cautious.

_That_ made him realize that he needed to play this one safe.

Oh, he totally planned on busting out of the joint. He wasn't going to stay _here_, even if his mother expected him to leave. Because even if it played into her scheme, leaving was the only thing he could do; he'd promised Todd to come over long before this crap had gone down, and Ray wasn't going to break his promise.

Nor was he going to get into trouble for it either.

The second his grandmother had shown up, he had known he would need to be smart about it. He would need to play his cards carefully.

He would need a plan.

As his grandmother sought out to make breakfast, a litany of insults and condemnations being spewed in Spanish as she beat eggs together, he found an opening. Or rather, he found an opening for an opening. Because it was then, while her back was to him, that he realized how _easy_ it would be to get away.

If he were to drug her.

His mother had some over the counter sleep aids in the medicine cabinet, remnants from when his father had died… for _real_. And Ray had access to them, right? So if he were to, say, accidentally dump one or two in his grandmother's glass of orange juice, that would be cool…

Right?

No, he thought miserably. _No_, that wouldn't be cool. _And_ it wouldn't work. Knowing his luck, his mother would come home before his grandmother passed out. Or his grandmother would have a bad reaction and die or something…

And granted, Ray wasn't opposed to the evil woman _dying_, but he doubted it would help his cause if he were to kill someone – even if it were accidentally.

So he could only play along and listen to his grandmother continue to lecture him. Miserably eating an overcooked omelet, he only spoke up when his grandmother had asked him if he'd learned his lesson. "Si."

And he had.

As the rest of the day passed, his grandmother continuing to give him the side eye as lunch finished, he said it to himself over and over:

From now on, he would never _ever_ assume that his mother was bluffing.

_End (75/?)_


	76. Chapter 75: Without Pity

Author's Notes: Yikes, it's been a while since I've updated. Hopefully though I'll have more time now to write. Thank you to all who have stuck with this and to Freddie and Josu for leaving me reviews. It means a lot. Also thank you to my beta, Olly, for all of her help.

_Disclaimer: I don't own the world; I just like to play with it every now and then._

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Seventy-Five: Without Pity**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worse kind of suffering." – Paulo Coelho_

Kyle tiredly pressed the side of his head against the passenger side window in Yelina's car. She had eventually relented, agreeing to give him whatever information she could find on Horatio. But getting to that point had exhausted Kyle beyond words.

True, she hadn't put up much of a fight. Perhaps realizing that he would never come with her until she gave him what he wanted, she had nodded her head in a relatively short time. She'd caved.

Really, it must have only taken her five minutes at _most_ to agree to give him what he wanted. But for Kyle it had felt like an eternity. Seconds had stretched into hours, minutes into months, and he had no idea why that was.

Maybe it was everything that had happened wearing on him. Maybe it was the fact that he was going to have to talk to Horatio about stuff. Maybe it was something else all together. At this point, Kyle didn't really know or care; all he wanted was to crawl into a bed – any bed – or some sort of hole and disappear.

But that clearly wasn't going to happen.

"You'll be fine," Yelina said, suddenly disrupting his train of thought.

He didn't know what to say, so he simply nodded his head in understanding.

She, on the other hand, couldn't stop talking.

"I can get you whatever information you want on Horatio, but I do hope you understand: it will take me some time."

Immediately Kyle glanced over at her. In his heart, he knew what her words meant. And he didn't like it. "Yeah, it'll take you time," he said sarcastically. "To weed through everything, white wash it, so I don't know –"

"_No_," she interrupted. "I have no intention of combing through the information I give you."

He was doubtful. "Really?"

"Kyle, our agreement was that I would give you all you could ever want to know about your father. I have no intention of lying to you."

He thought she sounded honest enough. He still didn't believe her, but he thought he heard earnestness in her tones.

Suddenly, as though the moment had transplanted him into another place and time, he remembered why he needed to remain doubtful. He remembered how years ago he'd stayed with a religious family for a week. That had been the amount of time it taken for them to go from foster family to people who'd wanted nothing to do with him. Which was ironic, because they'd been, like, über-Christian, and thinking a kid was the Devil didn't exactly seem Christian to Kyle.

But anyway, _before_ they'd made _that_ decision, they'd tried to indoctrinate the crap out of him. They'd taken him to church, read him the Bible, and told him (during one of their batshit crazy tirades) that what made the Devil so powerful was that he could easily imitate God. And what Kyle had taken from that was a). Christians were fucking psycho, and b). good people weren't always what they seemed to be.

As if he'd needed to learn the latter part.

He'd practically learned that at birth.

Correction: he _had_ totally learned it at birth if Horatio, who clearly liked looking like a good guy, had abandoned him knowingly. But Kyle didn't want to think about that possibility right now. He didn't want to think about Horatio. Because this was about Yelina and whether or not _she_ would betray Kyle – not anything else.

But try as he might, Kyle wasn't sure where to land on the matter. He just really had no idea. So he decided that the best thing to do would be to grill her some more. "Yeah? Well, people don't intend to do a lot of things. So _that_ doesn't mean shit."

She looked at him sharply. Apparently, watching the road wasn't all that important. "My word –"

"Doesn't mean anything to –"

"But you made this agreement with me," she pointed out, turning her focus back onto her driving. "I do not believe you would have done that if you truly thought that I would betray you."

"That was before you said it would take time," he snapped, truly beginning to feel like he'd screwed up.

"Do you think I'm lying when I say that it will?" she asked curiously.

He wouldn't answer the question directly. He could, he guessed, but this wasn't about him or why he was thinking the things he thought.

This was about _her_.

"You put a file together for Horatio on me. Did that take months?" He was just asking a question, but it definitely sounded like an accusation.

"No, it didn't," she said quickly. And even faster, she added, "_But_ there are several factors you have not considered."

"Like… what?" The question came out angry, so angry that it almost sounded like a demand.

"To begin with? You're much younger than Horatio. The sheer amount of information there is to collect is much larger. That alone will mean that I need more time," she explained patiently.

Truth be told, Kyle hadn't considered that. He was sixteen, and Horatio was… however the hell old he was, and Yelina was right; it would take longer to get everything Kyle wanted. But he wasn't going to capitulate just yet. She might have been right about _that_, but he still wanted to make sure he wasn't getting screwed over. And if he threw in the towel now, accepted that she was right and said, "Lets move on," he would never be sure that she really needed all the time she clearly wanted.

"Additionally," she told him, cutting across his thoughts. "You've lived your entire life in Miami. Horatio has not. So I'll have to look for records in every state, every _city_ he's ever lived in." She glanced over at him as though she were making sure he was still listening.

Perhaps satisfied that he was, she kept talking. "Here, it's easy for me to retrieve information. The people I talk to… they know me. They know that I'm often working with the Miami P.D." She looked to her left and right before turning the car onto a side street. "These individuals give me the information I need without question, because there's a rapport there. They know I can be trusted. I won't be getting that from New York."

At first glance, Kyle thought that made sense. She probably could get things done faster here, where there were people she knew. But then… then he thought about how hard it would actually be for her to get information elsewhere. And the more he considered the matter, the more he began to believe that… it probably _wouldn't_ be hard. After all, she _was_ a family member of Horatio's, and Kyle didn't think it would be _that_ difficult for her to get the stuff she wanted.

That doubt one he couldn't ignore, he brought up. "You're family. You don't think –"

"My relationship to Horatio is not by blood. The main tie that bound us is dead. Technically…." She sighed as though she were admitting a truth she didn't like. "We're not family. I don't see it that way, but given privacy laws, I doubt they would give me access based on that alone."

Kyle's gaze narrowed on her. "So what you're saying is that there's a good chance you _can't_ deliver."

"No." He could hear the irritation in her voice. "If I said I would do it, it will be done. I promise you. But it _will_ take time. Especially if Horatio is to remain ignorant of the fact that I'm checking up on him."

For the first time since they'd gotten in the car, Kyle felt that he could agree with her on something. "I _don't_ want him to know about this."

"I'm glad," she replied. "It would be best if he didn't find out." Not even for a second did Kyle think that she was saying that for his benefit, which was why he wasn't surprised when she added, "He's a secretive person. He would _not_ react well."

"Right."

He didn't know what else to say. As much as part of him hated that he didn't know shit about the man who was supposed to be his father, Kyle couldn't find it in himself to be angry. He couldn't be angry with anyone who didn't trust other people. So he'd just said right, because it seemed like that was his only option.

"You're both similar in that regard," Yelina said quietly.

Inwardly he groaned. Was she really doing that – trying to make it seem like Horatio and he were the exact same person? Cause Kyle didn't like it, and it _wasn't_ going to work.

Defensive he practically snapped, "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"You _know_. Don't try and make it seem like Horatio and I are the same person. We're not, and we're never gonna be."

He'd brattily put his foot down, but she clearly paid no attention to him.

Calmly she said, "I was making an observation."

"Well don't."

"Kyle…." Her voice was soft, his name almost hesitant on her lips. "I don't think you're the same person. I would not want you to be."

"That makes two of us," he grumbled.

At first Yelina didn't respond. Given the way she usually offered her thoughts and feelings promptly, Kyle hadn't expected her to stay silent. If anything he'd anticipated a quick admonishment the second he'd finished speaking. Especially since, from little he'd seen, Yelina was seriously in love with Lieutenant Firecrotch, Kyle had assumed that she would be annoyed at the implication that Kyle didn't want to be anything like his "father."

But what actually happened was that she didn't say a word at first. Her focus on her driving, it was as though she hadn't even heard him. It was like nothing had happened. But she must have heard him. His comment hadn't been made in a particularly quiet manner; certainly he'd been no louder with anything else he'd said. And it seemed unlikely that she randomly went deaf at that moment. So she _must _have been keeping silent on purpose.

What that purpose was, he didn't immediately know. He _definitely_ didn't care.

Guaranteed, whatever point she wanted to make was one he wasn't going to enjoy or appreciate, so he was content to ignore her.

And yet she seemed to have no awareness of that fact, because she eventually said, "This is hard for you. I know."

He wanted to tell her she couldn't possibly understand, but she held up a hand and stopped him. "I don't mean that I know everything you're going through. I couldn't possibly comprehend that." She smiled sadly at him. "I merely see that this is difficult for you."

Kyle bristled. "I don't need your pity."

"Good," she replied with a nod of the head. "Because I'm going to tell you something you aren't going to like, and if you're expecting me to pity you…." She shrugged and didn't finish the thought.

However, he didn't need her to. He could internally hear the "too bad" (though she probably would have said it more eloquently) in his head. And even with the words unsaid, he got the gist.

"Yeah?" he challenged. "What are you going to tell me?"

"Simply that, if there is one thing you should realize by now, it is that you don't know Horatio very well." She clearly tried to make that sentence sound as inoffensive as possible but no dice. He _was_ offended – not because she was wrong, but because she was stating the obvious. It was like – and he wanted to say this – no shit.

Perhaps sensing his annoyance, she was quick to keep talking. "As I said, I understand that it is difficult for you to trust him… to even _want_ to trust him. I understand that you are assured that this will not work and you protect yourself by refusing to see even a hint of common ground you –"

"Thanks for the psychoanalysis, but I'm not interested."

He shifted in his seat. The bitter words he'd just uttered didn't reflect the unease he felt at her assessment. Part of him – no, the whole of him knew that she was right on some level. He didn't think he'd be with Horatio a year from now, so Kyle had already in some part decided that putting in the effort wasn't worth it.

He knew it.

That was totally what he was doing.

When he'd been younger, he'd been desperate to connect to anyone who'd even remotely resembled a parenting figure. He had clung to whatever similarities he'd found in his foster parents as though liking the same kind of soda could protect him from the pain he'd felt as a child.

And then he grew up.

Then he realized that it didn't matter how alike you were to someone else; they would always betray you in the end. They would always, always, _always_ turn their back on you, and it was better to never feel anything than to allow yourself to connect to something that would never last.

So… yeah. Yelina was right about that. He didn't want to see any of himself in Horatio. But at the same time, what with the way she was making it sound like a _bad_ thing, Kyle had no interest in hearing her out.

Apparently though, that wasn't enough to make her _stop_ talking.

"You don't want to see all of the things you have in common," she reiterated, her accent thick and a little convoluted. "And if you keep doing that, you will _ensure_ that this never works out."

"So it's all my fault," he grumbled.

She shook her head enthusiastically. "Of course not. Horatio is so desperate to… have a relationship with you that he sees the qualities you share and dismisses your differences."

Perhaps Kyle could agree to that. He didn't know enough about Horatio to _see_ any similarities, but Kyle supposed that that could have been a… reasonable explanation for his "father's" behavior.

And yet Yelina didn't stop there. "Do you see?" she asked gently. "Every time you agree with what he says or asks of you, every time you pretend like you have no opinion, you make him believe that he's getting to know you."

"Well, that's _his_ problem."

"No. It's not," she insisted. But immediately she backed off of that statement. Her voice calmer, she said, "Not solely anyway, because it's in your best interest as well to make sure that this situation works."

Kyle didn't say anything. He just gave her a doubtful look before turning to gaze back at the passing scenery.

"You think you would be better off bouncing between foster homes? You would prefer that?"

The way she spoke… it was almost as though she was legitimately asking that question. Her words had little doubt in them, had even less judgment, and it made Kyle feel like she actually wanted to know.

And so he couldn't help but be honest by half-whispering, half-murmuring, "I don't know."

He didn't.

Part of him was so sure that this was a disaster waiting to happen that he didn't want to get invested in any way, shape, or form. At least then, when trouble hit, when Horatio changed his mind, Kyle could slink away with his pride intact and the knowledge that he'd _never_ really fallen for Horatio's game.

But at the same time, he also considered that it might be dumb to outwardly resent Horatio in his life. As with everything else, some part of Kyle _did_ contrarily feel resentful and proud of that fact. Yet the rest of him whispered that this was better than nothing, that this version of a family wasn't as bad as some of the other places he'd stayed. And knowing that, part of Kyle felt that he should _try_ to make this work.

But…

If this wasn't going to be permanent, what was the point?

Not wanting to lose a good opportunity while at the same time not wanting to get hurt, Kyle just… really had no idea what to do. And his response to Yelina had absolutely been the truth; he just didn't know.

The question weighing heavily on his mind, he didn't even notice they were back at the lab until Yelina said, "We're here."

He looked up abruptly. Dimly he took in the familiar surroundings before him. His eyes barely managed to take in the scenery around him; he was too busy feeling overwhelming dread flood his body as though every cell of him knew what was going to happen.

He was going to have to talk to Horatio.

And, like, _soon_.

Before it had been something in the back of his mind; he'd known he was going to have to have an uncomfortable chat with his father, but Kyle had been able to deal with that fact, because it wasn't happening at that moment.

That conversation _was_ about to go down now, and suddenly he _really_ didn't want it to. But he'd made a deal with Yelina, and he knew there was no way out.

"Get out of the car, Kyle," Yelina said gently.

He didn't move.

He couldn't.

And perhaps sensing his fear, she told him, "You need to go talk to him."

"Right." He sounded dejected even to his own ears.

"Our deal aside, I _urge_ you," she said, stressing the one word so much that she made it sound as though it were several syllables long. "I really, truly urge you to be honest with him. Until you know for sure that you _don't_ want to live with him, maybe it would be wise to give him a chance."

Kyle opened his mouth to respond, but he never had the opportunity. At that moment, at that very second, there was a knock on the passenger side window.

Startled Kyle turned his head to tell whoever the intruder was to fuck off. But the words never escaped him.

Looking out the window, he was met by a familiar gaze. Swallowing hard, he felt the name echo throughout his body:

_Horatio_.

_End (76/?)_


	77. Chapter 76: Keep your Distance

Author's Notes: I would like to thank Josu, Roots4Miami, and bananacupcakes for taking the time to leave me reviews. Knowing that there are still a few people out there would like this story and want to read it is nice. Also thank you to my beta, Olly, for helping me tweak this story time and time again.

_Disclaimer: The show belongs to other people, not me._

**No Other One**  
**Chapter Seventy-Six: Keep your Distance**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

"_The distance is nothing; it is only the first step that is difficult." – Madame Marie du Deffand_

Years ago things had been different.

As Horatio stood on the front steps of the lab building, that was the thought that ran through his head. Years ago things – _this_ – had been different. _Yelina_ had been the one with the out of control child, and he'd been the one with the answers, the one who understood the boy.

Back then, she'd been in his current position, wondering with a maddening sense of betrayal why her son had done the things he'd done. And Horatio had been the one to make sense of all of that. He'd been the one to offer explanations when Ray hadn't; where the boy had cast doubt, the man had provided hope and support.

Yes, things had been different then.

They'd been better.

Of course, it went without saying that Horatio did _not_ enjoy his current circumstances. He did not like having a son who betrayed him thoughtlessly. He did not like the unpredictable behavior and dilemmas that stemmed from that. And he _definitely_ did _not_ like having to depend on Yelina to give him some nugget of stability.

Rationally, he understood that he should have been grateful.

She'd clearly been the one to find Kyle and currently the only one who seemed to have some sort of relationship with him. And Horatio knew he should have valued her presence in their lives, because at least there was someone around who had gotten that far with the boy.

But Horatio didn't.

At all.

Frankly, grateful was the last thing he felt.

If anything, he felt _resentful_ of the way she seemed to be wrapped up in all of this.

And why shouldn't he be allowed to feel that way? Was it really that wrong to want some time _alone_ with _his_ son? Was Horatio so out of line to wish for a chance to bond with his child without her interference?

He didn't think so. Even though some part of him could see how awful all of this sounded, he didn't think he was completely insane for wanting any of those things. Bitter? Yes. There was no denying how bitter he seemed in that moment. But crazy for feeling the way he did? No. As much as he wanted to banish himself of that ugly emotion, to deny himself it completely, he couldn't. Because, as ridiculous as it might have seemed, in his marrow, he knew he had every right to be displeased.

Admittedly… he didn't exactly know what was going on. Standing there, waiting for Yelina to return his son, Horatio was aware that he was completely ignorant right now. He had no idea what had happened or what was occurring now. And a more forgiving mind would have chosen to wait and see before getting angry, would implore him to do the same. But he couldn't do that.

He wouldn't.

Again, he could admit that there was a lot about this situation that he didn't know. He didn't know why Kyle had left or how Yelina had found him or any of that. But it was precisely that lack of knowledge that made Horatio so resentful.

_He_ was the parent, not _her_.

_He_ was the one who was supposed to know these things – the one who should have been _informed_ the second she'd found the boy – no, the second he'd been _lost_.

Telling himself that with a certain amount of viciousness, Horatio could feel his thoughts meander and congeal into an unending sense of anger. Where each synapsis ended or began, he didn't know, couldn't sense it. Everything blurred together in his mind and without.

People came and went, as he stood in front of the entrance to the lab; in bright bursts of color, they flitted past him, some smiling, some frowning the second they saw him. Clearly, they recognized him, but waiting for Yelina and his son, _he_ had no clue who they were; for him, they were one indiscernible person, a collected mass of individuals he couldn't be bothered with.

How many people passed him like this, he didn't know. How long he stood there like that, he also didn't know. But considering he had far more important matters on his mind, he barely cared.

No, he didn't care _at all_.

He was too focused on this one aspect of his life to concern himself with anything else.

And he wasn't going to apologize for that. As he waited for Yelina to return with Kyle, Horatio understood full well that, in a sense, he was wasting time. He could have been running lab samples or examining the findings of others; he could have been doing _something_.

But he wasn't.

He was just standing there, believing – rather foolishly – that, if he stared at the open-air parking lot long enough, Yelina would pull up that much sooner. Of course, given the way the long shadows shifted on the hot pavement, it seemed impossible for her to drive any slower. Again, he couldn't be sure how long he'd been waiting for her, but to him, she sure had taken her time.

And that angry thought stayed with him, as a friendly companion might, until she _finally_ arrived.

Her sports car gleaming as a sunray hit it perfectly, Horatio slipped his sunglasses on. The very fact that they'd been _off _until now, he thought at that moment, was proof enough that he'd been distracted.

But at the same time, right then and there, that intense interest seemed to lessen. Coming in second place to his_ pride_, it wasn't enough to have Horatio rushing to her side.

Part of him wanted to do just that, naturally. It might have been a small sliver of himself, but nevertheless, there was the inclination to hastily move toward the pair. To stalk toward them, throw open the passenger side door, and demand all the answers he didn't have – yes, it was tempting.

But he refused to give into that desire.

Having spent enough time interrogating criminals, Horatio knew that to appear desperate was to give someone else the upper hand. And going to them eagerly was, he understood, tantamount to the same thing; it would be letting them both know that he craved answers, answers they had and could decide not to give him if they felt they were in control.

Determined to _avoid_ that, he forced himself to stand still and wait for them to come to him.

Of course though, they would take their time in doing that as well. Instead of hurrying out of the car, instead of displaying _any_ indication that they knew he'd been waiting for them, they stayed where they were. And even from a distance, Horatio could see Yelina lean over to say something to Kyle.

What she was telling him… obviously Horatio didn't know. In equal measures though, he couldn't help but wonder what she was saying and resent that she felt close enough to Kyle to offer him any advice whatsoever.

Yet, it was solely the _latter_ emotion that fueled Horatio when he finally came face-to-face with Yelina and his son.

"Horatio," she said pleasantly, as both she and Kyle came to a stop in front of him. Her tone of voice was casual; she was speaking as though absolutely nothing was wrong with the situation they all found themselves in, and Horatio noted with tempered disgust that she had a hand on the boy's shoulder, as though she were reassuring him.

And _that_ was the last straw for Horatio.

He didn't want to be a jerk; he'd tried to tell himself that his feelings were unwarranted, even though some part of him knew that they absolutely were. But now it seemed like being angry was unavoidable.

Being mad at _her_ was unavoidable.

And if he kept the ire out of his voice, it was only by a miracle and _not_ by effort or self-control. "Yelina…. I think we need to talk."

The "alone" part of the sentence went unsaid, but she seemed to understand that that was what he wanted. Because she instantly agreed with a nod of her head and said to Kyle, "Why don't you wait in your father's office?"

Horatio was sure that his son had no idea where that was. But to be completely frank, Kyle also looked so relieved to have an out that he didn't seem to care about that fact.

"Fine," he said in a tone that barely concealed the sound of his mollified sigh. And before Horatio had a chance to give him directions, the boy slipped into the entrance of the building without so much as a look back.

"I assume you wanted to do this without him," Yelina offered in explanation as the doors shut behind Kyle.

"I did. Yes." Horatio refocused his gaze on her, and he was glad that she could not make out the anger in his eyes from behind his sunglasses.

Oh, she would know the truth soon enough. Rage seemed to coil within him like a snake angling to strike, and he knew that he didn't possess enough self-control to tame the creature inside of him. And maybe it was because of that that he was equally filled with shame.

She would know how he felt, but he was so out of control with his ire that he wished to keep that knowledge to himself for as long as humanly possible.

"I… did not want… Kyle around for… _this_," he explained slowly.

"You should talk to him, Horatio. You should open up to him more."

She wasn't being judgmental, her hazel eyes warm and friendly. But he didn't respond in kind.

"_Some_ of us… don't feel the need to… _open up_ to –"

"You're mad at _me_?" Yelina asked in dismay.

"_No_." He was lying. "I –"

"You are," she insisted. Folding her arms across her chest, she continued. "You're upset that I was the one who found him."

He wouldn't admit to that, not in those words. But what he said was "You _do_ seem to be the one who… is around when _something_ goes wrong."

Yelina's eyes narrowed on him. "You have a rather short-sighted habit of turning your phone off. Kyle was _missing_. Did you expect me to do something different?"

"I… expected…."

The sentence went unfinished.

And from the way she scoffed haughtily, she didn't seem surprised by this.

"You don't know what to say," she told him knowingly. "Because you expected of me _precisely_ what I did."

"I… _suppose_." He bounced on the soles of his feet but refused to say more.

Yet she remained unfooled. "You have found that it is hard to relate to Kyle. _That_ is to be anticipated. But you have told yourself that it shouldn't be so, so you've decided to blame me for –"

"I don't blame you."

She looked at him sadly. "You don't think I know when you're mad at me, Horatio?" For a brief moment, she seemed ready to take a step closer to him. But ultimately, she decided against it. "I can tell."

"I appreciate… what you're doing," he said lamely, knowing how stupid the words sounded as they left his mouth.

"I do not believe that." He opened his mouth to try and convince her otherwise, but she spoke before he even had a chance. "I think on some level you are… maybe. But overall, you resent that I have had these opportunities you haven't."

And he supposed he couldn't argue with that. At least, he guessed it didn't sound that awful; admitting that didn't make him sound like too much of an ungrateful jerk, anyway. So he reluctantly, cautiously nodded his head.

"There will be other times for you –"

"You don't think… I've lost… plenty of those… already?" He cocked his head to the side.

"Of course," she said in agreement. "But there will be other chances for –"

"I am… _tired_ of losing the few I have had."

Yelina smiled though it was not one of joy. "Good. Because from where I am standing, Kyle has plenty that he needs to tell you. And if you're not willing to –"

"If _I_ am not willing?" he asked, repeating her words. "I don't know what… the boy said. But I… have been –"

"That is not what I'm saying," she said with a hint of frustration.

"Good." He was once again repeating what she had said earlier. But this time, the word had bitterness and anger coating the single syllable. "Because I… have been doing my _best_ to –"

"I know." Her voice was much kinder than his could ever be at this point. "And I can't imagine what this has been like for you – no more than you can imagine what it has been like for _me_."

His eyes narrowed on her. "You… want me to apologize again?"

"Of course not."

"Then you… _forgive_ –"

She didn't say anything to cut him off. He ended up doing that all on his own when he saw the dark glare filled with loathing she shot at him. "Okay," he said quietly.

"I am…." She shrugged. "Accepting it." He nodded his head, knowing that he couldn't really say anything to encourage her without sounding patronizing. "Lucky for all of us, your son is a good kid."

Again Horatio inclined his head in agreement.

"But I think… he is unsure as to whether or not he can trust any of us."

Horatio couldn't help but sound acerbic. "He seems to trust you just –"

"You need to push him," Yelina interrupted, ignoring the pot shot he'd just hurled her way.

And that surprised him. "What?"

"You need to push him. You're frustrated by the fact that I have seemed to have found some… common ground with him, and you have yet to," she said pointedly.

He didn't argue the point.

"So I am telling you: if you want to forge a relationship with him, you have to push him to talk to you."

Horatio raised an eyebrow. "You don't think I _have_… talked to him?"

Her answer was immediate. "I'm sure you have. Tried to anyway. But you take his acquiescence as agreement and –"

Yelina." His voice was quiet, but the word got her attention nevertheless. "I know you… want to help, and… I appreciate that. _But_…."

He paused and wondered if he was doing the right thing. When she hadn't been here, he'd been sure of it, convinced that his anger was righteous and that anything he said to her now was equally so. But now that she was standing in front of him, now that she had once again demonstrated a level of forgiveness for his actions he'd never anticipated, he wasn't sure.

He wasn't sure at all.

In his heart, he knew she was just trying to be helpful. Just as he knew that, if he were taking offense to her aid, it was because he seemed to be flailing so awfully on his own.

And yet…

_Equally_ in his heart did he believe that he couldn't rely on her help to get through this. Pride aside, he was sure that, if he did use her every step of the way, it would only hurt him in the end.

In an immediate sense, sure, he would become closer to Kyle; they would bond that much faster. Horatio could see that her help would ensure that happening.

But at the same time, he feared taking that lifeline. Because if he used her help, wouldn't that signal to Kyle that his father was always interested in taking the easy way out? Wouldn't that say, "I want to get to know you, but rather than work for it myself, I used the Cliff Notes version?"

In his mind, the answers to those questions were ironclad yeses.

That was _exactly_ how this would look.

And because of that, he knew that he couldn't – even if part of him wanted to – accept Yelina's guidance in this matter.

"I need you… to stay away," he said finally, the words coming out just as ambiguous as he felt.

There was, however, no confusion as to how she felt.

Hurt practically seeping out of every inch of her body, she looked as though he'd slapped her. Her eyes sorrowful, mouth turned downward in a frown, she said, "I am not the problem –"

"I know you're not," he said quickly, his tongue seemingly too thick to make the sentence come out with even the slightest hint of grace. "I… know."

"Then why are you doing this?"

"Because… if I use you… _he_ will never trust _me_."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "That is not true."

"I think… it is."

Horatio wanted to add, "And that's all that matters," but didn't. He knew that he didn't need to do that; Yelina was smart enough to read between the lines, to instinctively know what he was trying to tell her.

Which was why it came as no surprise that, after a tense moment of silence, she nodded her head. "If that is what you want," she said in defeat.

"It is."

There was no sympathy in the tones, no apology. Maybe there should have been. Okay, there _definitely_ should have been. But Horatio couldn't muster up those feelings inside of him even if he'd really tried. Because, deep down, he knew that this was the right thing to do. And even if some part of him didn't want to do it, he knew things _had_ to be this way. So there was no point in apologizing for something that couldn't be helped.

"All right," Yelina said, her voice tense and thick with emotion. Absent-mindedly, nervously, she jingled her car keys in her hand. Looking back at the parking lot for a moment, she was clearly debating whether or not it was worth continuing this conversation.

Apparently, it wasn't for her.

Nodding her head a few times, her curls bobbing up and down laconically, she said, "Then I will leave you two alone. I have a case –"

"Of course."

They descended into an uncomfortable silence once more, and also once more, Horatio felt the need to apologize or explain himself. And just as he had before, he did neither of those things, instead choosing to keep his intense gaze on her the whole time.

"Okay," she said after a moment or two. She started to walk back into the building, the conversation clearly over. But she stopped in front of the entrance doors. Pausing, she looked back. Her voice strong, she insisted, "You need to talk to Kyle."

And that was all she said before walking away.

_End (77/?)_


End file.
